Iridial
by Ritzcraft
Summary: Urban exploration can offer some interesting insight into a building's history, but a trip to Mount Massive is never advised. Separated soon after entering the hellish place, siblings Jaye and Simon Orville must find their way back to one another while trying to survive the trials of the asylum. (Violent content, descriptions of blood and gore, and sexual content in chapter 8).
1. Chapter 1

**—**

**Chapter ONE**

**—**

If there was one truth about Colorado, it was that no matter where you went, and no matter what you were doing, tumbleweeds would try to choke the very ground you walked on.

Evidence of that truth lined the road as a navy blue SUV wound its way through the mountains. As the vehicle neared its ultimate destination at the top of a narrow but well-maintained path, the clustering of tumbleweeds seemed to grow thicker. A passenger within the SUV stared at the dry, broken balls of branches for a long while, as if there was nothing else to see. The reality was that thse stared at them to avoid looking at anything else, to delay the glimpse at her surroundings that would cause her gut to clench as hard as a steel bear trap.

Because if she raised her line of sight, just a little bit, she'd see the foreboding, dark cumulonimbus clouds piling in the sky, see the tightly-gated wall around the ominous, looming building where no man in his right mind would ever willingly set foot. The radio looped a message that a tornado warning was in effect for the area until late that night, but it did not hold her attention either. Her sole thought was on ignoring the fact that danger waited ahead. Yet the more she stared at the tumbleweeds, the less she was able to flee thoughts of their nearing destination. When the tumbleweeds began to resemble macabre, twisting tiny fingers, Jaye Orville finally allowed herself to look up at the towering facility before her.

Mount Massive Asylum certainly lived up to its name. It was huge. Dark. Forbidden.

Jaye blew out an anxious breath as the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the gates, then turned to speak to the driver. Light blue eyes, a mirror of her own, stared back at her.

"Are you sure about this, Simon? It's not too late to change your mind. We can check out that abandoned town back past Pueblo, you know. Does it have to be an asylum?"

Her brother rolled his eyes as he killed the engine.

"We're here already. We might as well go all the way. If you'd have said something back in Leadville, maybe I'd have reconsidered."

Jaye took another look at the massive, obviously creepy building, finding no traces of life about. No lights in the windows, no security at the gates…

As far as she knew, the building was supposed to still be active. Why then had no one stopped them at the gate? Hell, why hadn't anyone stopped them further down the mountain? Wasn't this supposed to be a highly secure facility?

Simon watched his sister's nervous glances about their surroundings.

"We've used up enough gas just getting up here. There's no way I'm leaving empty-handed. Come on, it's fine. There's no one here."

"But what if…It's probably not safe in there. There's got to be at least a ton of broken glass and debris in there, and if something happens, we're miles away from help."

"That's what our gear is for. I didn't forget anything this time, so just relax." When his words didn't seem to offer Jaye any sort of reassurance, Simon took a turn at sighing. "Look, you're free to stay by yourself if you want, but I'm going in, and I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I had you there to spot."

_'Ah yes, play the guilt card right away,'_ Jaye thought bitterly.

The role of spotter was an important one. Most urban explorers were like Jaye and Simon, entering a location to photograph or film, later to upload their findings on forums dedicated to the illegal hobby. In the case of the Orville siblings, such photographs were also posted on a personal website. Simon was the photographer, the face of the site, the man behind the camera. Jaye's role was a bit different. When Simon had first begun his exploits into dangerous abandoned locations, she'd gone along only to make sure he didn't get himself killed.

As it turned out, making sure he didn't get himself killed was a full-time job.

It was easy to miss a hole in the floor while setting up for a shot, too easy to disregard any wildlife that might live nearby, and sometimes Simon would get careless. A few times, he'd almost stpped off the edge of some rotted-away floorboards on a third floor, or stepped too close to a rattlesnake nest while taking outdoor photos. It was Jaye's job to make sure that didn't happen, so her brother could get his shots without fear of breaking his neck to take a picture of some vine-choked graffiti on a rooftop or something.

And with a place this big, Jaye had no doubt Simon would get himself lost or drop his equipment in some unreachable hole. Asylums and hospitals always filled her with unease, an inexplicable prickling sensation that roiled and twisted under her skin. Perhaps it was because places like this always had some kind of messed up history, stuff that could inspire people like Stephen King to put their tales to paper.

There was always something off about asylums, whether it be its dark history or something disturbing left behind; a person-shaped spray of graffiti on the wall, leftover patient charts, rusted meal tins, or the occasional bit of human bone alongside a personal keepsake in a dusty room. Jaye did not want to go in. but she couldn't very well leave her brother alone, or he'd go off and do something supremely stupid. Simon, whose bravado was matched only by carelessness. Simon, whose list of dumb decisions could fill a novel.

No, Jaye decided. She'd not wait around while he got himself tangle in something wicked. The guilt card had been well-played.

"Fine," she hissed. "But if we meet anyone who wants to play 'where is thumbkin' while flushing my severed fingers down the toilet, or someone who wants to make you his 'special friend,' I'm out."

"I knew I could count on you to have my back!" Simon clapped her hard on the shoulder, which earned a withering glare of disgust.

"Don't touch me," Jaye replied, unbuckling her seat belt. "Come on, I'd like to get this done while we still have some daylight."

Not that it would do much good, with the cloud cover that had gathered overhead. It felt like a warning to Jaye, a sign that she was right in thinking that they did not belong there. But she said nothing as she retrieved her pack from the back of the SUV. All she could do was hope that Simon had done his homework before choosing Mount Massive as their latest stomping grounds.

She watched her brother duck into a small office near the gates, a spot she imagined had once housed security guards. The male retrieved a sheet of paper, probably a map, that was tucked under some other papers on the desk. While he did so, Jaye made sure her steel-toed hiking boots were tightly laced, and that her flannel pullover was tucked safely into the waistband of her jeans. It wouldn't do for either article to get snagged on something, and as she spotted Simon's loose laces, she rolled her eyes. The moron was probably going to trip over himself later, but Jaye knew it was pointless to even bring it up, and that she was only feeling so irritated because she was nervous. She shrugged her pack onto her shoulders, then glanced at the paper in Simon's hands.

"So? Where to, intrepid explorer?" she asked.

Simon held the map up for her to see, gesturing at an area just behind the main building.

"Why don't we explore the prison block first? We can circle from there into the male ward, then through the courtyard and into the female ward, and back through to the administrative building. This will keep us from backtracking too much, and we can get out of here before it gets too late. What do you think?"

Jaye shrugged. Honestly, any time at all in the building was going to suck.

"Good enough for me."

She glanced up at the building, to the towers behind the main area, sharp and windowless, save for the area near the very top.

"So we enter through the administrative building?"

Simon glanced at the map again.

"Looks that way. There's connecting doors in both of the wards too."

"Then we should get going. But first…"  
Jaye threw down her pack and began rummaging through it, mentally cataloging everything that had been packed, approving every item until she noticed a distinct lack of one.

"There aren't any walkies," she pointed out.

"Huh?"

"Walkie talkies," Jaye repeated. "You didn't pack them again."

"So? We've got these," Simon fingered a bright orange whistle clipped to the front of his own pack. "No big deal."

"No big deal?!" Jaye was incredulous.

She wanted to lecture him, to tell him all the reasons why it was a big deal, and to slap him across his clueless face, but Simon was already tossing his pack over the heavy iron gates. Jaye rushed to rejoin him, hefting herself over the gate as well after shimmying the pack back onto her shoulders.

The doors were open, darkness swallowing up the scant amount of sunlight that still remained. Pushing down the fear again, Jaye followed her brother through the doors, she too being swallowed by the darkness. And as they shut the doors behind them (to allow for a more "authentic" experience), the clouds above loosed their burden in a steadily-increasing downpour.

Flashlights became a necessity almost immediately. The large, open space of the administrative building swallowing the beams just as the open doors had swallowed up the last bits of daylight, dusk heralded by the storm which had arrived. There were office spaces off to the sides, doors to the empty rooms shut. These were of little interest to the siblings. Instead, they followed the hallway to a heavy metal door, the portal to the prison ward they were searching for. It too lay open, leaving the duo to wonder at just who might have been wandering this way.

The prison was even darker, if possible. Simon stalked through with purpose, not really stopping to photograph much. Jaye supposed that that made sense. Might as well wait until they got in deeper, until there was something actually worth seeing. They'd explored prisons before, and hospitals, and old, broken farmhouses. Most places were fairly formulaic, following a general guide as far as their layout as well as the content within. Nothing seemed to catch Simon's interest until they reached a staircase leading to the prison block's second level, and no sounds greeted them until then. But the floor just beyond the landing of the stairs was decorated with something that immediately caught Simon's eye. Written in a dark, rust-colored smear that looked muddy in Jaye's flashlight beam, feebly scrawled letters spelled the words "God is Dead." Jaye illuminated the "graffiti" more fully while Simon pulled out the camera to capture his first images. Jaye felt her stomach drop with dread as she followed the rest of the smear with her light. It trailed down a few feet, streaked in a straight line, and curved to the right into an empty cell. A larger, dark stain painted the floor and part of the wall there, confirming her suspicions about what medium the artist had decided to use.

It really wasn't that uncommon to find things written in blood when exploring abandoned places. It was even less uncommon to see "God is Dead." Apparently, quite a few people agreed on that. But usually, if they found a message in blood, they'd also find an animal or a pot or container filled with liquid from a transfusion bag nearby. The fact that neither object lay near made Jaye uneasy. It felt as thought someone had run an ice cube up her spine, and her body broke into goosebumps despite her layered tank top and pullover.

There was no telling what…or who the blood had come from.

Simon didn't seem even half as disturbed. Seen one instance of blood writing, seen them all. He was even less impressed with what the writing said, and was eager to move on to the next section of the cell blocks. Jaye scurried to catch up, trailing the light ahead under Simon's feet so he wouldn't trip. But a little ways ahead, instead of a clear path to more cells, they were presented with a sort of crude blockade constructed of fallen timbers and debris. So Jaye turned back toward the staircase, the light catching the sheen of Simon's red-blond hair as she did…the only real color in the place.

The short ascent to the third floor led to an identical looking landing, more cells, and a sight that had Jaye reeling.

Blood. So much that it looked like several pigs had been slaughtered, then tossed around for fun. The source of the mess lay in a broken heap some twenty feet down the walkway, shoved against the door of another cell. The light revealed three more shadowy shapes behind it, all sprawled in various broken heaps, one draped over the railing to the floor below. Both siblings knew that no amount of special-effects makeup could make them look—or _smell_—so real. The men were dead, all of them stripped naked and swarming with flies. Fairly fresh deaths.

"What is this?!" Jaye snapped, whirling on Simon. "What the fuck is this?!"

For his part, Simon looked properly horrified this round.

"I…I don't…"

"You said there wasn't anyone here, Simon!" Jaye accused. "These men are _dead!_ Whoever killed them could still be around. We have to go. We have to tell the police about this. I knew coming here was a bad idea!"

As Jaye turned to descend the steps, Simon snatched her wrist.

"No, we can't!" he hissed.

"Why the fuck not?" Jaye returned. "You're worried we'll get in trouble for being here? Well, news flash, buddy, but I'm a lot more worried about the possibility of a crazed murderer on the loose than I am about a night in jail! Let's. Go."

She tried to pry his hand off of her wrist, but her brother's grip was tight.

"We can't," he punctuated his words with another tug of her arm. "In case you haven't noticed, there's one hell of a storm out there. We drive back out there, and the road is probably going to flood. I know you want out of here. I do too, after seeing this. Whoever did this is one sick fuck."

"Oh, you _think!?_" Jaye's voice was near hysterical as she tried to wrench herself out of his grasp again. "You just don't fucking listen, do you? We've never found dead bodies before. I know we've seen some crazy shit but this is just a little on the extreme side, don't you think? We can't stay!"

Her words came a mile a minute, her instinct to run in full effect as adrenaline blossomed in her veins. Simon had to think of some way to calm his sister down before she hurt herself or had a panic attack.

"We won't stay," he said. "Not here anyway. "We'll go back down to the administrative building. We'll camp out there for the night, then head back to town once the storm blows over."

"Oh yeah, let's just stay in the creepy asylum with a bunch of dead guys upstairs and a loose psycho killer. Stellar plan."

"I know!" Simon snapped at her. "I know it's a shitty situation, I really do. If we could leave, trust me, I'd be in that damn SUV right now, hauling ass down the road. But it's too dangerous to leave right now. Don't you understand that?"

She did. But dying in a horrific car wreck seemed almost favorable to staying within even a mile of the scene which looked like it'd be right at home in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake. When she didn't respond, Simon raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

"This..wasn't what I was expecting at all," he muttered to himself.

'You want to run that by me again?" Jaye demanded. "What do you mean, not what you expected. Clearly you were expecting _something!_ Talk, Simon!"

Her fright was taking over now, increasing her agitation and making her chest hurt from struggling to breathe. And all of her ire was directed at her brother for managing to drag her into this mess.

Simon shrank away from his irate sister, who in her fury had pried her arm from his grasp. She used her now-free arm to pin him by his throat, arm across his windpipe as she slammed him against the nearest cell door. Her red hair fell about her face in unruly curls, framing her eyes and making her appear to be some sort of Hellcat. And Simon knew from experience that his twin was indeed a Hellcat, unafraid to use tooth and nail to extract words from him. He threw his hands up in wordless surrender. Jaye looked ready to tear his throat out. Seeing his submission, she eased up a little.

"What were you expecting?"

"I…" Simon chose his words carefully. "You know the forums where I post our pictures?"

"Of course I know. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"A while ago some guy posted something unrelated on there. Guy's name was Miles…something. He mentioned getting an email from some guy who worked here, said the guy claimed some fucked-up stuff was happening here. He said he was going to see for himself, but he'd like it if…Well, he said he'd appreciate it if someone else checked it out too. That way, he'd have someone to back up his claims if he did find anything. I mean, it's easy enough for one guy to fake a few pictures, right? That's why we came here. I didn't really know _what_ to expect. Figured, if anything, we'd get some good shots for the website, you know?"

"So we came all the way out there under a tornado warning, risked breaking our necks and getting washed off the road, found a pile of dead guys…all because some guy you don't know made a _suggestion_?" Jaye pinched his face, hard. "I should have absorbed you in-uterus!"

Simon held his reddened cheek, popping his jaw a little bit. That had hurt, but he sense his sister had been holding back. She looked like she'd rather have slapped him.

"I'm sorry, okay?! I only knew that something had happened here. I had no idea it would be this! Look, we'll leave as soon as the storm passes, I swear it. I know it's fucked. I should have told you. But right now, I need you on my side. Just for a little while. What do you say?"

Jaye eyed her incorrigible brother with a critically narrowed gaze for a long time. She tensed, wanting desperately to punch him until he bled. Maybe knock some teeth loose this time around.

"How long ago did that guy make his post?" she finally asked.

"About a week? Maybe a couple days more. Why?"

"You didn't tell me and you knew for a fucking week?!" Jaye wound up, coiling back to strike him in the face, then lowered her hand and pinched his other cheek as hard as she could.

"Ow!"

"Now you match," she said. "Let's get out of here."

As the siblings passed back the way they came, Jaye willed herself not to glance into the rooms near the stairs, afraid of what she might see.

'Gaze into the abyss, and it gazes back into you,' she reminded herself.

She didn't_ need_ to look to know what waited in the dark. It was splashed all in the hallway, the maddening buzz of flies and the stench of metallic rot almost too much to take. Jaye swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down where it belonged.

Simon took the lead again, being the mapholder, and Jaye made sure that he would not trip, the same as before. Neither said anything, and for a while the only sounds were their heavy clunking footsteps, sticking slightly in the spilled gore. Gradually, they attempted to retrace their steps.

But it soon became clear that they had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Instead of shining on an open door leading into the roomy administrative building, the light shined on more destruction. Entrails and blood splattered the way, pooled and shiny and black in the light. There was a body too, but it was so mangled and shredded that not a single part was identifiable. The carnage had even splashed up to the ceiling, bits of skin and flesh sticking there like silly string. By all rights, it looked almost like the body had exploded from within, or been torn apart by an animal.

And it looked very, _very_ fresh.

Jaye reflexively backed up, shaken and struggling not to void the contents of her stomach.

Simon said something to her, but she had no idea what. Indeed, she didn't even have the capacity to register that he'd spoken, so fixated was she on the splattered sight. Her hands were trembling, jarring the flashlight erratically. When the beam danced across four columns of grubby but obviously still living flesh, she went perfectly rigid with fear, her muscles forgetting any other response.

"Who's this?"

A man's voice from above the four fleshy columns, slightly raspy but calm and clear.

"Guests," a second voice answered, just as steady and subdued as the first.

Under the beam of the flashlight, the red-headed twins could see that the columns were legs, belonging to two burly, filthy, and stark naked men with protruding teeth and a crazed glint in their eyes. Their faces matched almost perfectly, both as horrifying as the other. Twins, like Jaye and Simon. But not like Jaye and Simon. Something about them seemed…base, animal.

"Not from **there**," the first twin said.

"No," the second agreed. "Not Murkoff."

"But not from here."

"No."

"Outsiders."

"Outsiders. Plenty to go around."

"I would like the female."

"She is yours."

"And the other's tongue."

"Greedy," said his twin. "But no matter."

Jaye did not like the sound of any of that.

"Simon," she whispered frantically. "We need to move."

But her brother was a stock-still as she had been. Even tugging on his arm did nothing to awaken him, and his cool blue eyes were frozen on the demented pair before them. If he didn't move…well, the female didn't want to think about it.

"Simon," she whispered more harshly, not knowing if he was paying attention to her words. She elbowed him for emphasis, pinched the crook of his arm. Still no response. He had gone static, staring into the eyes of a predator bent on tearing off his head.

"Shall we give them a head start?" the first twin was saying.

"It would be sportsmanlike," the second said.

Jaye didn't wait for Simon to wake up from his reverie. She turned, yanked his arm in a vice grip, and scrambled back down the hall. She'd barely gotten five feet before she heard the footsteps of the twins; sticking, squelching steps taken on bare feet. She flipped off her flashlight in an attempt to hide in the dark. Simone seemed to come awake then, at last, and shoved her ahead with a frightful strength. They ducked into a room at the end of the hall, hoping to hide, but the footsteps drew nearer. Frantic, the siblings looked around the space for something, anything they could use to get away. In a calmer situation, in a place with more illumination and less blood, they might think the pursuing twins were pranksters, men who had wandered into the asylum with the intent of scaring all those who entered. But their minds had been wiped blank with panic. The thought never even occurred to them, not after the conversation the naked, crazed twins had had.

Still holding her brother's arm, Jaye knew that they had to find the other staircase, even if they had to do so in the dark. It was the only way she knew of to return to the administrative building, because Simon had dropped the map as soon as they'd seen the mangled body in the walkway. Apparently, it was a lot closer than she thought, because her steel-toed boots caught the edge of something metal as she dragged her brother through the dark. The pursuers were close now, dangerously so, but Jaye did not even dare to look. Panic and nerve sand survival instinct swirled in her head as she flipped herself up over the staircase's railing. A crack of thunder shook the entire building, and she scrabbled for the flashlight. A flash of stark and washed out light, and she saw that one of the twins had snatched Simon's ankle.

"No!"

Jaye snatched too, pulling Simon back out of the crazed man's grasp. But she lost her grip on the railing, smooth metal sliding out of her hand as she lost her balance. As she and Simon toppled over the railing, she realized they were falling far further than they should be. Was there a hole in the floor? She couldn't even manage a scream, and she had no way to fathom how deeply they would go. All she could think about was the descent itself.

_'This is going to hurt.' _


	2. Chapter 2

**—**

**Chapter TWO**

**—**

When Simon had first begun urban exploration, he had always gone alone. Back then, he'd been an amateur, minimally equipped and with a cheap camera. Jaye never went with him in the beginning, since at the time, she wasn't even aware of his hobby. Going alone meant that every aspect of the exploration was up to him, from scouting out the locations to checking for hazards. These days, it was just so regular for Jaye to watch out for him that it felt almost unreal to remember a time when she didn't.

He could recall one of his very first explorations. He had chosen the end of a waterway to photograph, just a few shots to test his capabilities with a camera. The waterway fed out into an open, sunny area, with the rest of it stretching underground in a dark, wide tunnel. Countless concrete half-walls stood within the space, placed an even distance apart. They were designed to catch large hunks of debris that washed down the tunnel, keeping it from clogging the grates that drained into the sewer system. It was tricky to keep one's footing on the narrow walkways that ran down either side of the tunnel, where workers would stand with long-handled tools to pick the debris off the concrete blocks. But there was a lot of graffiti on the ceiling of the tunnels, exquisite murals of stars and planets placed there by a daring street artist.

Simon would not the be the first explorer to try capturing the images, but risking the danger of the tunnels was somewhat of a rite of passage among new explorers in the area.

A single misstep could have him falling from the walkway to be dragged by the water flow and dashed against the blocks.

Simon remembered that he _did _misstep, that the water had reached up to his waist as it swept him down the tunnels. He remembered the sound of the roaring current as it sped him towards his death, the howling and deafening pounding before he managed to grab the edge of the nearest block.

He was hearing that same deafening roar now, as though water were rushing over his head. But as his vision cleared from black and the air returned to his lungs, Simon realized the sound was his own pulse, blood rushing through his veins. Dimly, he became aware of shouts, and of footsteps as several figures ran past him. Jaye lay prone to his left, eyes wide as she craned her head to watch the masses running—and they seemed to be running away from something.

There was light down here…_some_. A couple of dim, flickering bulbs swung on loose wires, making the shadows dance wildly. The light was just enough that the fallen siblings could make out the whole shapes of the figures running near them, as well as the blurry silhouette of the broken wooden crossbeams above. It was these that had broken their fall (albeit painfully; Simon could definitely feel a giant bruise forming on his back, and it hurt to breathe), though how far they'd fallen was a mystery. Simon did not see their pursuers anywhere nearby, either above or around them. But that did not mean they wouldn't find another way to get to them. Simon did not know if the murderous pair were the ones responsible for the mess upstairs, but a quick look around told him that it was the last of his worries. He sat up, wincing as his back bent, and suddenly felt every inch the incompetent idiot his sister believed him to be.

They were not alone, the place was _not _abandoned, and the asylum seemed to be active. But not a doctor or security guard could be seen. Honestly, with how the visit had played out already, he doubted any doctors or security personnel would be found in all of the asylum. The placed looked like the den of a colony of feral cats, dirty and broken and desolate. The whole of the prison block had looked to be in disrepair, and from the few glimpses they'd gotten at the administrative building, Simon was willing to bet the rest of the place was the same.

It was vividly clear now that something horrible had happened, a disaster of a large scale that Simon could only guess at. What they were seeing was the aftermath of that.

Jaye had been right. They should have turned back.

He heard his sister's groans of pain as she too sat up. Bruised and disoriented, she struggled to her feet.

"Oww," she complained, flinching when her voice echoed loudly in the space. She lowered her voice. "What…what is all this?"

It looked like it still belonged to the prison block, but it was some kind of common area or cafeteria. It was a very large, open space, and several areas were divided from each other with chain link fencing that ran ceiling to floor. A pipe somewhere ahead had broken and gushed steadily onto the floor. The siblings could hear several inmates' footsteps as they sloshed through the pool the pipe created. They were either running away, stopping to mutter things to themselves in dark corners, or staring at them and the ruckus they'd created with their fall. All of them kept their distance and for that, Simon was grateful.

"Goddamnit," he muttered as he forced himself up. "Place was supposed to be empty. Instead we walked right into the stage play of Quarantine. You okay?"

"As okay as I can be. Ugh…just what the hell happened here?" Jaye answered, she too clutching at her ribs.

"I wish I knew. Come on, we've got to move. I don't like how those three over there are looking at us."

He gestured to a trio of inmates who stood by the broken water pipe. All of them were severely deformed, facial features bloated, skin sickly in pallor. One of them had a large patch of raw, exposed muscular tissue that spanned half his face, flesh and skin peeled back to reveal his gums and teeth. Between them, only two eyes were visible at all due to how swollen, battered, and scarred their faces were. They looked severely ill and neglected.

"Isn't this supposed to be "Mount Massive _Hospital_ for the Criminally Insane?' Why aren't there any faculty members around here?"

Simon's disgust was honestly surprising to Jaye.

"Whatever happened here probably made them leave the patients behind," Jaye reasoned. "But this looks like it's been going on for longer than just a week."

"Then no wonder someone wanted to check the place out. Maybe the guy on the forums was going to expose it."

"Yeahhhh that sounds like something we don't need to get involved in."

"I agree," said Simon. "I was all for finding out what he was talking about, but now that we see how large scale this is…Well, it's a little too much for me to handle."

"Then let's get moving," Jaye said. "I think our new friends are getting a little too curious about our conversation."

She case a wary eye at the three, who had inched closer while the siblings spoke. They'd made no sudden moves, which meant that they were either innocently curious or intended a sneaking ambush. Neither sibling wanted to find out after being chased down like prey a few floors up. And neither one was keen on finding out what had sent most of the inmates running.

Jaye and Simon stretched themselves this way and that to ensure nothing was broken and, not sparing another glance at the ever-watchful inmates, began to walk. Neither had any idea where exactly they were, and with the map having been lost, there was no way to check. They'd find an exit somewhere, and hopefully the thuggish twins would make no return visits.

Jaye stayed close to her brother's side, both for a sense of security and to avoid being left behind. They dared not risk using a light after what had happened upstairs, silently seeming to agree that they'd avoid using one unless seeing became impossible. For now, the flickering bulbs were enough.

There were a few inmates who hadn't run, and as they passed by, the siblings' own heartbeats nearly deafened them as they tensed for any sort of attack. The deeper they walked, the harder it became for them to see. It felt like they were raw and open in the dark, more vulnerable than fish in a barrel.

Simon and Jaye neared a narrowing hallway that led to parts unknown, the area ahead pitch-black. Nearby, they could hear someone whimpering and murmuring to himself. Simon wondered at what the man had seen to drive him to such a state.

The hallway required them to go single-file, and slowly. They still wouldn't use a light. Not until it became too hard to navigate, when their night vision failed them. The whimpering seemed louder now, along with some heavy breathing form some different source. Brother and sister did not know if someone was there in the dark watching them, though they hoped not. They tried to focus more on not bumping anything in the hall, to be as silent as their clunky boots allowed them to be.

Somewhere further down the hall, a door slammed and someone scampered down the way, running across the intersection in front of them.

"No! Not me, not me!" the frantic man shouted.

A sort of vile curiosity drove the siblings to quicken their pace. Simon finally brought out his own light to help navigate. They found the man in an adjacent room, huddled behind a fallen table. When he saw their light in the door way, the man shrieked.

"No, no!" His voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "Go away! This is _my_ hiding spot! Find your own!"

The siblings stepped closer, cautiously and slowly.

"Do you…is there something we can help you with? What is it you're hiding from?" Simon asked, crouching down to his level.

"No!" the man huddled down even more, curling tighter on himself. "Go away! He's coming!"

"Who's coming? What happened here?"

They'd never had much hope of getting an answer from the man, and any chance that they could have died completely when loud, thunderous footsteps came through the door. Jaye whipped around to see a huge man there, completely blocking the way out.

"Oh. My. God."

"Found you," the giant growled.

Huge, burly, bloody, and disfigured, the man was built like a tank on legs. His massive belly and elephant-thick limbs distracted only temporarily from his face, his visage twisted into a vicious snarl. A metal apparatus pulled the skin around his mouth back from his teeth, and his little beady eyes glinted in the light.

There was no questioning it; he was dangerous. The new assailant took a single huge step into the room and swung his massive arms toward them. Simon barely back-stepped in time to avoid the swing, and Jaye fell on her butt. The man huddled behind the table shrieked in terror as his shelter shattered. He squirmed away from the corner in a futile move to escape. But he was too late to do anything. The tank man grabbed him up easily with one hand, his grip impossibly tight. The smaller inmate kicked and screamed and flailed wildly. Jaye and Simon watched helplessly as the attacker reached up with his other hand, gripped the inmate's skull, and began to pull.

The inmate's screams grew louder as he pleaded for his life, then went silent. A sickeningly loud splash was heard as the man's head tore away from his body. Head and body alike hit the floor, then the hulking beast stomped on the detached skull, resulting in another sickening splatter (along with a healthy crunch). Simon felt the gore splash over his boots. And Jaye knew then and there that this massive, terrifying brute was responsible for the mess upstairs.

Simon lunged for his sister, hauled her up onto her feet, and gave her a hard shove out the door.

"Run," he told her. Jaye had no choice but to comply.

She and Simon ran wildly, blindly, flashlight long since extinguished to give the hulking psychopath a disadvantage. But the disadvantage was theirs as well, and Jaye didn't know right from left or up from down. Her legs pumped hard, muscles burning as she propelled herself further down the hall. All the while, the giant's footsteps thundered behind her. Her hands were flung in front of her to feel her way if she ran into a wall. Her lungs burned terribly, and she realized she must have cracked a few ribs too. Her brother likely had it worse, since she had landed on top of him when they fell from above.

Her hands continued to feel empty space until they came into abrupt contact with solid wall, and Jaye realized the hallways split into a T.

She wasn't thinking of which way to go when she skittered off to one side. She was only hoping whichever way she chose wouldn't lead to a dead end. Suddenly, she was toppling over, feet nearly flipping over her head as she tripped over something that had fallen across the floor. She tried not to think about the fact that the object was soft-ish. Indeed she didn't have to, because her hips connected with something rigid and sharp, the contact sending a jolt of pain through her bones and bumping her back a few steps. After a few seconds of groping to sense what it was, Jaye determined that it was a table or desk. She quickly ducked under and scrambled out the other side before tripping again.

The smell of rot assaulted her nostrils, making her head spin.

_'Up,' _she commanded her limbs. _'Get up!'_

But her legs wouldn't obey. Her hands had landed on something cold and clammy, something sticky with what could only be blood…or something far less pleasant.

A body. She was touching a _dead body._

Horrified, Jaye scooted backwards to get away from it, only to bump into another one. She leaped to her feet and whipped out her source of light. Then she nearly fell over again at what revealed itself.

The place was a body dump.

Flies swarmed the bodies which were in varying states of mutilation and decay, intestines spilling from some and severed heads sitting near others. The entire floor was covered with blood and bits of organ and excrement, and Jaye's feet stuck to it with every step.

An acidic tang hit the back of her throat and she had just enough time to lean over before she retched onto the floor.

It took a long time for her to even out her breathing, becoming aware that the giant had given up the chase. She was now alone.

Simon was nowhere to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**—**

**Chapter THREE**

**—**

…_.Two Hours Later…_

Jaye was a little sickened by how quickly she grew accustomed to seeing corpses laying around. After about thirty minutes of the same thing over and over, they just sort of became old news. She stopped being shocked after a while.

And as long as she avoided looking at them for too long, or thinking about the lives they may have had before getting brutally slaughtered, she managed just fine around them. In fact, she grew so used to them in a short span of time that she discovered that hiding near them was an extremely useful survival tactic. By the time she'd remembered that she carried a pack full of supplies and was thus not totally helpless, she'd already used three separate stacks of stiffs to hide from patients who'd wandered just a bit too close for comfort.

However, many of the patients also had an…inordinate fondness for the recently deceased. She learned not to hide next to a single body on its own after witnessing a relatively non-mutilated inmate indulging in some "special alone time" with a decapitated heap.

The sight disturbed her, but probably less than it should have. It was all very desensitizing, and Jaye felt that that was probably wrong. Shouldn't she be terrified? There was death and blood and darkness all around her, and she was alone and lost. She had no idea where Simon was, or if he was even okay. She h_ad_ to find him, and that was perhaps the thing that was keeping her from breaking down, the thing that allowed her to see the destruction as merely a collection of objects.

As "normal" as everything was in the context, Jaye _was_ incredibly glad to remember her gear strapped safely on her back. There were snacks, water, hand sanitizer, thick leather gloves, and a sturdy folding knife in the pack alongside the other regular gear. No first aid kit—that was in Simon's pack—but useful all the same. She'd used almost half of the hand sanitizer and donned the gloves right away, and the knife was tucked comfortingly into her jeans pocket. She felt a little better thus armed (even though she was pretty sure she could catch an STD just by breathing the fetid air), but she still needed a plan and to figure out where she was.

That was the hard part. It had been a long time since she and Simon had been separated, and though Jaye had tried retracing her steps to the junction of the hallway, she'd managed to completely pass it and had gotten hopelessly lost as a result. She didn't even think she was close to the spot anymore. She'd wandered into a space that was not as open, that had a lot more wreckage and leaky pipes and fewer corpses. Probably part of the prison still, though she had no way of telling where.

Flinching as her foot smacked loudly into a chunk of wood, Jaye ducked into the nearest alcove she could find. Sure enough, as soon as she got positioned, a patient walked slowly past, whistling in an imitation of a sparrow. She crushed herself as far back into the space as she could to avoid having the patient see her. She recognized the whistling, and knew firsthand that the patient was hostile. In fact, she suspected that he wanted to cannibalize her, given that his reaction upon spotting her fifteen minutes prior had been incredulity, followed by a chant of "fat and gravy" as he licked his lips.

A small and arguably insane part of her psyche had wanted to jokingly offer him some of the snacks in the pack, but she was able to clobber the odd urge and start running instead.

He hadn't been the first patient to express his desire to eat her, and she imagined he probably wasn't going to be the last. He was tenacious, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. That was how she'd managed to evade him so far, but she was getting a little sick of the game of hide and seek. If she didn't do something to distract him, he'd just keep chasing her in hopes of turning her into Jaye Tartar.

And so here they were.

The thought of killing him crept into her mind, unbidden and ugly. Immediately she felt disgusted with herself, but that same insane part of her psyche reasoned that it might be necessary for her survival. If he caught her, he'd have no such reservations about killing her instead. Nor had any of the other patients she'd fled from.

She hated every aspect of the idea. The asylum's residents may be unhinged, but the facility's workers were supposed to help them. Given their failure in that regard, Jaye couldn't say that she really blamed the stalkers for wanting to destroy every living thing they saw. To have to kill them seemed like kicking the sad dog while he was down. Though, perhaps at this point it would be more a kindness than cruelty. Still, there was a fine line between self-defense and murder.

Moral qualms aside, did she even have the capacity to take a life? Even at her angriest moments, Jaye did not recall ever entertaining thoughts of killing someone. Sure she'd wanted to smack the shit out of people before, or wished something bad would happen to them, but death was never an end result in any of those hypothetical scenarios. She could hardly fathom someone dying as a result of her actions.

Jaye wasn't sure about her physical capabilities, either. She was in decent shape, but she wouldn't win any races or Olympic medals. She didn't have a ton of upper body strength to help her overpower someone, her strongest muscles being those in her legs. If she was going to do it at all, her best bet would be to use stealth.

Jaye bit her lip. She hated being alone. Even if she was used to the corpses she still felt like her nerves would just shatter at any second from the necessary paranoia. She sighed in defeat.

The stalker in the hall paused, quieting his sparrow-warble as he turned

_'Shit.' _

He ambled closer to her hiding spot and Jaye swallowed hard before holding her breath. She could see his outline framed by the murky light of a far-off bulb, the reason why she hadn't used her light in a while. Jaye wasn't sure how long she'd be able to hold her breath, and the man wasn't moving.

Would she have to do it? _Could_ she?

Jaye's lungs were burning from the effort of holding in air with cracked ribs. Her eyes watered with the effort and she thought she might pass out or cry out in pain if it went on much longer.

But finally, she heard his footsteps walking way from her spot. He began to whistle again, and Jaye finally exhaled.

It must have been louder than she'd anticipated, because the whistling stopped immediately and she heard a scuffing sound, the noise of fast-moving feet.

The decision had been made for her.

She yanked the knife out of her pocket and flicked open the blade just as the stalker rounded the wall. Later, Jaye would reflect on how the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing was total bullshit. But at the moment that she was attacked, all of her thoughts turned off. There was only instinct, the desperate need to survive.

He hadn't been expecting her to be armed. He barely even processed the knife until it was buried to the base in the flesh connecting neck and shoulder. But when he did register what had happened, his eyes filled with what Jaye could only describe as rage. Jaye could see it even in the dark, his pain and anger, and perhaps incredulity, as if the thought that prey could fight back was completely absurd.

But he didn't fall from the blow. Jaye had to pull the knife back out, which was a lot harder than she thought it'd be. She saw the blood bubbling our of the deep wound before he suddenly took hold of her throat with an enraged shriek.

"You bitch!" he screamed at her, squeezing his hands tight to strangle her. "I'll have you here! Fat and gravy! Fat and gravy!"

Jaye choked and sputtered, hands locked around his wrists, scrabbling at the skin in an attempt to escape. She dug the tip of the knife in and he let go, so she held the knife in front of herself as she backed away. Her attacker lunged again with a snarl, and it was Jaye's turn to scream. Instincts took over and the knife plunged into the man's gut, driving deep as he impaled himself upon it.

He froze, completely shocked from the pain. Eye to eye, Jaye ripped the knife free.

Seeing someone die was never as clean and simple as movies made it out to be. Jaye's attacker did not simply fall to the ground dead. Instead he took a few stumbling steps back, clutching the new wound in his gut. His eyes went glassy and unfocused, and his breathing became more laborious. Before long, he crumpled to his knees. He parted his lips to say something but only bloodied saliva emerged, dribbling down his face until he began to choke on it. Jaye watched; fascinated, horrified, as the man coughed in an effort to clear his windpipe. The effort only served to expel more blood, until his struggling and wheezing and gasping went silent what felt like an eternity later.

Jaye's own breathing was erratic as the familiar sensation of hysteric horror seized her, and her throat hurt even more. Bruised, most likely.

Her hands shook as she wiped the knife on her plaid pullover before folding it closed. The weight of what she'd done made her breaths rattle and she had to brace her hands on her knees in order to calm herself. She couldn't believe it. It just didn't seem real, and yet the evidence lay right in front of her, slowly cooling.

Jaye had never been able to stand the sight of people in pain. It was the whole reason she'd agreed to be her brother's spotter in the first place, because the idea of him coming home mangled and in agony had given her nightmares. And now, here in front of her was a dead man. He had choked to death on his own blood, and it was her doing.

_'You had to,' _the nasty part of her conscience said. _'He was going to kill you. Eat you. Remember? Fat and gravy.'_

Her self-reassurance wasn't particularly reassuring. She felt sick with guilt, the blood warm on her gloves. Jaye was especially glad to be wearing them, unable to imagine how much worse it would have been to feel his blood on her bare skin.

She'd read some patient files that had been left sitting around in between bouts of wandering. The problems the patients had had, the sheer incompetence and refusal of the help that they needed made Jaye hate the corporation who owned the asylum. The things they'd made these people deal with, the complete lack of empathy and basic humanity filled her with disgust.

_Murkoff. _

She hoped that every last one of them were dead. They deserved it, animals that they were.

But what she had done made her feel just as wicked as those animals.

Not wanting to carry the evidence of her crime, Jaye threw the pack down and fished out a bottle of water to rinse the gloves. Once she was satisfied, she pulled the gloves back onto her hands and left the alcove.

It took every ounce of willpower to keep from turning to look at the body as she walked away.

Not able to bear remaining in the area, Jaye started to search for something…_anything _that could tell her where she was. All the walls looked the same, and the hallways were all too narrow. She continued down the hall though, and gradually she could see it become brighter through a barred door at the end, and Jaye became curious. Where might that lead to? Praying that it wasn't locked, Jaye tried the door. Fortunately, it opened with a light click.

The light was much brighter than she'd seen so far, enough that it actually stung her irises a little. She squinted a bit before she was able to take a good look around.

The first thing to catch her eye was yet another example of artistic calligraphy written in red on the wall to her right. This one seemed to have the opposite sentiment of the first scrawling she'd seen.

"God Always Provides a Way," it said. "Follow the Blood."

"Well, isn't _that_ charming."

Indeed, there was a smear of blood under the writing, next to a lit panel and a metal doorway that automatically opened as she neared it. Pipes ran close to the ceiling and a slightly bloodied metal grate lined the floor, leading to an identical metal door.

Jaye paused at the open doorway, debating the sensibilities of going in. she heard a groaning echo in the distance, somewhere far off back down in the direction she'd come from. Perhaps it wouldn't be exactly prudent to go back that way.

Who knew what waited through those doors, though? Could be that someone else who wanted to make her into a sandwich was waiting, or it could lead her to Simon.

No matter how desperate she was to get out of this hell, she had to find him first. She promised herself she wouldn't leave him behind.

She stood staring at the writing, hoping that perhaps the letters would rearrange themselves to give her an an answer.

"God always proves a way, huh?" she mused aloud. "Well, God hasn't been too helpful so far."

She made up her mind and moved to step through the doorway, though she felt that the message wasn't necessarily for her. A sudden sound of shuffling footsteps nearby, however, made her freeze with horror. Someone was coming…and there were no hiding spots close by. Slowly, she turned towards the noise. She saw a small red dot at the opposite end of the hall, along with a masculine silhouette. He'd stopped moving once she'd seen him.

_'Oh god,' _she thought. _'I'm trapped.'_

"Hello?" the figure called. Though he sounded lucid, Jay wasn't taking any chances. She wouldn't' trust anyone in this god-forsaken place. And so it was either run through the door or go back the way she came. Panic began to rise up in her chest as the figure drew closer to her. She needed to make a decision, and fast. The figure looked fairly skinny, and he was tall but not overly so. She could probably fight her way out if she had to, but…

"Hello?" the man repeated, stepping cautiously closer.

Jaye drew her knife in a flash, the heavy click of the blade being almost comforting. She held it tightly in front of her, feet spread wide. "Don't come any closer!" she demanded, hoping her voice sounded strong and confident.

The figure stopped moving.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the male said.

"Oh, yeah, like I haven't heard _that one_ before. You just…just stay right there!"

Jaye was a little ashamed when her voice shook.

"I'm not like the others here," the figure reasoned. "I swear. I'm not even armed. I'll come into the light and you can see for yourself."

"No!" Jaye nearly shouted. "I'm not stupid, you know. And I _will _stab you! Please, just stay back!"

He could be lying, trying to trick her into a false sense of security.

But none of the others had even tried to talk to her. None of them had made so much of a cognitive effort, simply chasing her down upon sight. He sounded so clear, so lucid and normal, and maybe scared himself.

"I'm not a patient here. And I'm guessing you're not, either. You know what, you're the first woman I've even seen here. That means you don't belong here, right?"

That sentence gave Jaye pause. She hadn't really thought about it, but he was right. She remembered from Simon's map that there was a female ward, but so far she'd not seen a single person of her same gender. She wondered why…unless of course they were all _dead_ already.

"I won't hurt you. If I try, you're more than welcome to stab me."

Jaye weighed her options yet again. He was either an insane inmate or a possible ally, and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle it if he turned out to be the former. But the hope that the could be someone normal, someone not bent on killing her…It was nice to think that maybe she wasn't alone here.

"Slowly," she said at last, still brandishing the knife.

The figure did as she asked, cautiously stepping into the better-lighted part of the hallway, and Jaye saw that he hadn't been lying.

He was a young looking guy, close to her age if she had to wager. Blue jeans. A white button-up. A brown leather jacket. Only minimal blood spatter…no murderous expression…Okay, he checked out.

"Oh thank god," Jaye breathed, lowering the knife and relaxing a bit. "So just…who are you?"

"Hey there," the man looked as relieved as she did. Maybe he'd expected her to be an attacker too. "Sorry for the scare. The name's Miles Upshur. Wish I could say _'nice to meet you,_' but given the circumstances…"

"Yeah," she laughed. "Not your typical hang-out, I'm guessing. I'm Jaye."

"You have no idea how glad I am to meet someone who didn't want to kill me on sight," Miles retorted with a grin. "So how'd you get sucked into hell?"

"That would be my brother's fault," Jaye shook her head. "We're urban explorers. You know, going places you're not supposed to, taking pictures, and bragging about it later."

"Yeah, I'd know a bit about that. I'm an investigative journalist, so I do plenty of exploration in places I'm not supposed to," Miles answered, holding up the camera in his right hand which she realized was the source of the red light she'd seen. "Why here though?"

"He wanted to verify something a guy posted about on the forums he visits, and he roped me in. I was here with him until about two hours ago. We got separated by some tank-looking guy and I haven't seen him since."

"That's not good. If that's the same guy I met earlier, that's not good at all. Do you think your brother's still alive?"

"He'd better be," Jaye scoffed. "If he isn't I'm going to wake him up and kill him all over again. It's all his fault we're even here! If he hadn't been so keen on helping that guy…"

Jaye trailed off as a puzzle clicked its pieces into place.

"Wait a minute," she turned on Miles suspiciously. "_You're_ the one, aren't you? The Miles Something-or-other! It's you! Did you know about all of this when you posted that shit? Is this some kind of sick joke, huh?!"

Miles backed up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. His hands were held high in surrender, a gesture she'd seen countless times from her brother.

"Whoa there, whoa," Miles protested. "Not sure what you're talking about, but I _do_ know if you don't calm down you're gonna attract the wrong kind of attention."

As if on cue, the groaning Jaye had heard in the hallway grew louder. She shuddered, the noise instantly pacifying her. Miles was right. It didn't matter whose fault it was. They were both here now, so they might as well work together. All that really mattered in the end was survival.

"Okay," She admitted defeat. "We'll…talk someplace less dangerous. Do you know where you're going?"

"Just trying to find a way out," Miles shrugged.

"Same here. I need to figure out where we are before I can go looking for my brother. I've gone in circles for too long already."

"Then we'll look for a map or something, just anything to get our bearings." The journalist paused and took in the appearance of the writing behind Jaye. He didn't seem too impressed. Probably, he'd seen a lot of it himself.

"More of that quack priest's instructions," he muttered to himself. "Looks like we're on the right track. Through the abyss we go."

Jaye's apprehension must've shown clearly on her face, because Miles approached and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and spoke gently.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. I won't leave you behind. We work together and we can definitely get out of here alive."

"I won't leave you behind either. I'm just worried about my brother. He can be…reckless. I need to find him as soon as possible."

Miles sighed and massaged the back of his neck, pondering.

"Well, I've got my own job to do here, but once we figure out where we are we can plan a route. I'll help you find him, alright?"

"You're being awfully helpful," Jaye noted with suspicion. "Why?"

"It's really as much for me as it is for you. Look, I won't lie, I'm just as scared as you probably are. I don't know what the fuck happened here but I'm gonna find out. When I do, the fuckers who run the place are gonna burn. And I think I have a better chance of that if I'm not alone. So for now, let's get moving."

"Right."

The hydraulic hiss of a tinted gas made both explorers jump in fright when the stepped into the open chamber. It soon became apparent that the gas was just for decontamination purposes though, and they both relaxed. It only took a few seconds, and the doors opened to reveal a staircase labeled with a sign that said "A Block." Well, that helped them figure out _where_ they were, but they had no point of reference.

Jaye allowed Miles to take the lead. He had more confidence than she seemed to, and she wanted to allow him to film whatever he wanted. And she was still terribly shaken from having taken a life not ten minutes prior. But she was calmer than she expected to be, a fact which she attributed to the presence of another lucid human being. But whatever the cause for the calm, she knew it wouldn't last long.

Better to savor it while it lasted.


	4. Chapter 4

—

Chapter FOUR

—

The calm Jaye had felt was nearly shattered a few moments after traversing the staircase. There in front of them was a large hole, more writing, and a rambling prisoner. She stiffened, terrified that he might attack too, that she might have to kill again. Miles noticed and stopped.

"Come on," he gestured forward. "Let's just do what the blood says."

Jaye nearly laughed.

"Replay what you just said in your head," she said.

"Okay, so that sounded a little nuts," he agreed. "But you get what I mean."

She did. Miles had a point. There wasn't another path they could take. Everything else was locked or barricaded.

"Down the drain, huh? Well, hopefully the drain isn't actually a spike pit."

Ignoring the exsanguinated security guard nearby, Miles leaped down the hole without hesitation. Jaye approached the hole and prepared to slide down herself. It wasn't the first time she'd climbed around in a wrecked building. It was, however, the first time someone had held their hand out to help her down. Jaye stared at the appendage, then finished her drop with a painfully loud thump next to Miles.

"See? Not so bad," Miles gave a half-hearted grin. "Stay close."

"Just a regular walk in the asylum," Jaye quipped. "Nothing out of the ordinary here."

The way forward tested her nerves even more. The area seemed to be a security hub or something along the lines, with a computer set up on a desk (which unfortunately did not yield a map or anything useful). There was still some light, but most of it came from the computer's blue-screened monitor. It was quiet, too, almost unbearably so compared to the more open areas.

So it really shouldn't have been surprising that a prisoner's face should appear out of the dark to press against the room's barred partition. It _shouldn't_ have, but Jaye jumped out of her skin anyway.

"Nothing here," Miles murmured to himself. "Damn."

"Back the other way then," she responded, distracted. She had been watching the red flash of the camera's power light. In the last few minutes, it had grown steadily dimmer and flickered rapidly.

"Hey um…"

Miles whipped around, camera still recording all that it saw. Jaye had to hand it to him, he certainly had tenacity to still be recording even though he'd probably have to run for his life at any given second.

"Yeah?" he responded.

"How are the batteries in that thing? Looks like it's about to go kaput."

She heard Miles' sigh.

"Yeah, they're no good. This thing sucks them dry faster than an alcoholic at an open bar."

"I've got some, if you want them. AA?"

"Yeah," Miles said. "Guess it's a lucky thing we ran into each other. I wasn't looking forward to navigating in the dark."

"That's why I always have more than one light source," Jaye rattled her flashlight. "If this dies, I've got glow sticks and a pocket light. They're kind of crappy, but it's better than nothing. It's always good to have a backup, everyone knows that. Not much of an urban explorer, are you?"

Miles only shook his head at her lighthearted jab and reloaded the camera with the batteries she procured.

"You seem pretty well prepared. You wander into many abandoned asylums?"

"I have once or twice," Jaye confessed. "But only small ones. I like to be prepared for my brother's sake. Poor idiot's probably bleeding to death or stuck in a hole by now without me there to watch out for him."

"You don't sound like you have much faith in him," Miles noted.

"It's not that. It's just, I'm the older twin. It's my job to worry. Besides, I promised a long time ago I'd look out for him. I don't like breaking promises."

"Then we'd better get going so you can find him, huh?"

Jaye smiled. "Yeah. That'd be preferable."

When the search in the next room turned up empty too, they turned around and vaulted over a small blockage leading into another wide hall.

They were not alone, however. In a little office terminal area, there was another patient and another security guard…who the first man was viciously beating to death. Blood spattered the separating glass as they watched in horror. Jaye could hear Miles' breath grow shaky as they drew nearer to the room.

"Looks like we have to go through there," he said, voice shaky too. He reached back and grasped her hand in order to keep her right behind him. While she appreciated his kindness, she wondered how much of it was just to comfort himself.

Well, she _was_ the one with the knife…

"I _hate_ this place," Jaye muttered.

"Same."

Neither made any sudden movements, but apparently they'd gone too close to the man. The patient took a swing at Miles with the bludgeon he killed the guard with, very nearly landing a blow.

"Stay back!" he cried, as if he was the one being attacked.

"No, _you_ stay back!" Jaye brandished her knife at him. The patient backed off and crouched down by the dead guard, hands clamped over his ears.

"I'd like you to stay quiet," he whispered to himself. Or maybe to the dead man. She wasn't sure which.

There wasn't anything in the connected rooms either, save for some discarded junk and a few patient files that made Jaye's stomach turn. The search continued, past locked security rooms and into a door at the end of the hall, which was finally unlocked. It seemed like they'd made some progress…until another crazed patient spotted Miles and began chasing them with an enraged shout. Jaye struggled to keep up as Miles practically yanked her down the hall to a pair of upright lockers and shoved her into one, then squeezed in beside her to hide.

"Shh," he warned her, listening for the enraged man's movements. He waited for any sounds, then peered out through the slats in the door before emerging from their hiding place. She moved to follow, but he held up a hand, stopping her.

"Stay here and don't make a sound. I'll be right back. There's something back in that room I need to check out."

"No, what? Wait!" Jaye protested, but he was already gone.

So much for not leaving her behind. Just what was he doing? It would be best follow his advice though, in case their pursuer came back. And so she sat in the dark box, thinking she'd be abandoned. But Miles did return a few minutes later, bleeding lightly from a small gash on his forehead but otherwise looking unharmed. Jaye stared at him as she opened the door, slightly dumbstruck as he produced a piece of paper from behind his back.

"Shit, what happened?" Jaye stared at the bleeding scratch.

"Just had a bit of a close call. Don't worry about me. Look what I found," Miles answered, sounding triumphant.

Jaye wondered if the cheer was coming from the considerable amount of adrenaline no doubt coursing through his veins. But then she saw what he was holding and understood why.

"Don't leave again!" she lectured him. "I thought we said we weren't going to split up! Wait…is that? A map! Where'd you get this?"

"It's not the whole facility but it'll give us a better idea of where we are. Take a look."

Miles showed the paper to Jaye. It took a minute to decipher where they were, but once they had, they agreed on a path and entered another decontamination chamber—Miles had returned to the room to unlock it. As they walked through the next section, Miles told Jaye what he did know about the situation, as well as showing her the emial print-off from someone who had worked at Murkoff. The horrors of what the corporation had done had driven the man to ask Miles for his help. The more Jaye heard, the more angry she became. She was pleasantly thinking of all the horrifically violent things she'd want to see done to the company's leaders, naturally avoiding the emotion of fear because of the fury that overrode it.

But fear would not fully retreat. After a bit of walking, the duo came across a barred hall. And behind the bars were two identical, familiar aggressive faces.

"We gave him a chance," one mused.

"That we did."

"I'd say we were more than fair."

"Paragons of patience," the second twin praised.

"Job-like in the suppression of our desires," his brother agreed.

"But now."

"Now."

"Now we indulge."

"Yes," the first twin said. Then, as a sort of reminder, he said to his twin while looking at Miles; "His tongue and his liver."

"Yours."

"Mine."

"Now would be an excellent time to get the hell out of dodge, don't you think?" Jaye frantically tugged on Miles' hand to convey her urgency. Armed she might be, but she doubted she could do much against even one of the twins, never mind both of them! Even Miles didn't seem like he'd be much help in that regard.

"That's the best damn idea I've heard all day," he agreed, easily retaking the lead.

The problem arose when the only way forward was literally out a window. The drop would probably break a few leg bones or sprain something at eh very least. Jaye really didn't see any options but turning back, but the reporter was more resourceful. She watched as she dropped out the window and gripped the edge as he began to shimmy along the sill on the outside. Gobsmacked, Jaye could only stare at the athletic feat.

"Come on," Miles encouraged her. "Unless you want to stick around to see if they were joking?"

She looked at what he was doing, and she doubted she'd be able to traverse the edge as easily as he did, but she'd rather not get left behind. Cautiously, she followed suit and dropped out the window, cursing as she sagged from the added weight of her pack. He arm muscles were screaming by the time she reached the open window a few feet away. Miles had already pulled himself up and he reached down to help her do the same.

"What took you so long?"

"This kinda crap isn't really my dayjob, you know?" Jaye scowled at him. "So, now what?"

Miles took a look around. The spot the twins had been occupying was now empty, and he had the sneaking suspicion that they were laying in wait somewhere close. Another red arrow conveniently pointed ahead towards an area labeled as leading to the showers.

"That way," Miles said, and moved to try the door.

Naturally, it was locked and required a keycard to open. Wherever one of _those_ was sitting around.

"Why does everything have to be so convoluted?" the reporter complained.

"Where's a fireaxe when you need one, huh?" Jaye shrugged.

"Don't suppose you happen to have on in that bag of yours?"

"Sorry," Jaye gave a toothy grin. "But there is this…"

While Miles had been fiddling with the door, she'd poked around a bit and found another decontamination room, this one broken and allowing a clear view of the other side.

"That works."

The chamber led eventually to a walkway overlooking the large area at the cell block. Jaye recognized it, because it was close to the area where she and Simon had fallen. Just looking at the drop from the levels above made her ribs throb.

It was pandemonium on the lowers floors as inmates ran screaming from the familiar, lumbering mass of the man who had split Jaye and Simon up. Jaye shuddered as she watched him rip another man's head off, easily as popping the top off a beer bottle. In front of her, Miles had half-shielded his gaze from the grisly sight.

"Not that bastard again," said Miles, and his companion figured he'd probably come face to face with him before too.

She wondered how he managed to escape, but they'd have to swap survival stories later. She watched the massive murderer stalk off, while something at the end of the walkway had caught the reporter's eye.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," he said as he turned around with a small object in his hand. A keycard.

"How convenient," Jaye said. Someone had probably put it there on purpose.

They returned to the locked room, not really shocked when the keycard worked. The area beyond was pitch dark and cold. The crack of thunder and pitter of rain was loud and clear, and they realized it was because there were open windows. There was no time to marvel at this though, because two silhouettes were faintly visible down the hall, slowly approaching. Jaye hardly had time to react before Miles was pulling her along with him again, towards the nearest open window.

She tried not to wonder too much about his proclivity for deadly climbing, and instead focused on keeping her grip on the slick window ledge. Above them, the twins could be heard exchanging sarcastic barbs about their whereabouts. Finally reaching the other side, Jaye moved to pull herself up, her grip slipping. She caught the window frame and jerked herself up, failing to heed the broken glass stuck in the corner of the window. The glass bit straight into her left leg, slicing the denim as though it were butter. She could feel blood running down her leg, along with a white-hot jolt of pain. It was sudden enough that she let out a loud, shocked cry and lost her grip again. This time she did not catch herself, and she felt herself falling backwards, boots scrabbling for purchase on the outer wall. But before she had a chance to say "hello" to the ground, Miles was there, catching her roughly by one arm and jerking her through the window. She didn't have a chance to utter her thanks, because they were running again; through halls and cells and darkness, until the pain in Jaye's leg became too much to handle.

"Stop!" she pulled her hand out of his. "We have to stop for a minute. I can't run anymore."

"We can't stop here," he answered. "If we do…"

"I know," Jaye cut him off. "They're out there somewhere, waiting for us. But if we don't stop now, I won't be able to keep up. Please. Just for a minute?"

Miles contemplated, and Jaye wondered if he was thinking of leaving without her.

The idea made her heart clench with fear, not all of it because of where she was. A memory had risen in the back of her mind, one she shared with her brother and one she had worked for years to push back.

_'Don't leave me alone.'_

But Miles did not. Instead he leaned against the near-dead terminal of the security room they'd stopped in.

"Okay. We'll rest a minute. I think we lost them for now anyway."

Jaye felt like she could cry from relief, and felt a great rush of affection for the reporter. "You've saved my ass more times than I can count, and we've only known each other for a little over an hour. Thank you. So, so much."

"Well, you haven't tried to eat me or tear my limbs off yet. So you're okay in my book."

"For now," Jaye said as she sank to the floor. Her voice was slightly edged, but did not betray the full extent of the secret panic that had begun to build in her. "Did one of them have a fucking machete? Whose bright idea was it to give scary weapons to scary people?"

"Maybe they won it in a raffle," the reporter suggested. "How's the leg?"

Jaye frowned and glanced down at the ripped denim at her knee. The surrounding fabric was damp from rain and stained red halfway to her ankle. It hurt, as expected, but Jaye wouldn't be able to tell how much damage was down until she could dress the wound.

"I can walk on it…for now. So hey, at least I'm not crippled."

"How much of a rest do you think you need?"

"No more than five minutes. I really don't want to hang out here any longer than that if we can help it."

Miles nodded and proceeded to examine the surrounding area while Jaye sat. there wasn't much to the room, apart from the terminals and an open vent, but in front of the terminal was a glass wall looking into another decontamination chamber. It was locked, so Miles reached for the button on the console which would unlock it. He immediately regretted doing so, because the hulking frame of an all-too familiar killing machine stepped into the gas and stomped towards the window, fully intent on smashing through it.

"Oh shit!"

The first smash did something that ignited the gas in the chamber. The entire room felt like it was spinning as panic overtook the reporter. He turned, pulled Jaye to her feet, then climbed into the vent above her and yanked her up just as the intruder succeeded in breaking through the glass. Miles knew that he knew where they were. He wasn't dumb, and they'd climbed up there in his direct line of sight. If he'd caught up to them this fast, he was probably extremely familiar with the hospital's layout.

"Oh god," he heard Jaye whimper. "Oh god. There's nowhere for us to go. We're trapped in here."

And, as she imagined, it was only a matter of time before the tank-man punched through the vent to extract them like clams from their shell. She was terrified, and a little sick of her capacity to still feel terrified at this point. The asylum's residents seemed fond of surprises, but Jaye was not.

"That chamber," Miles said. "We go through that airlock chamber. We'll have to run, but it's our only way forward."

"No, no, no," Jaye replied. "We won't make it! You saw what he did! He'll be on us in seconds!"

"Well, we have to try. It's either that or die stuck in here!"

Miles dropped out of the vent a few feet ahead, landing outside of the control room, and helped steady Jaye when she did the same. He gave her room to go in front of him before he followed. Inside the control room, the huge man was smashing everything in sight, then headed for the door separating him from them.

As Jaye ran past, towards the chamber, she heard a hissing noise as the gases continued to leak from their pipes, pressure increasing.

_'Oh no.'_

She threw herself forward out of the way and turned, hoping to warn Miles. But it was already too late. She watched in horror as the gas and flames exploded, propelling the man out over the hall's attached walkway. Down he went, screaming all the way from the flames and the fall.

"Miles!" she shouted as she watched him fall, heard his shouts of pain. The flames cut her off from being able to see where he'd fallen, and through the twisting blaze she could see the outline of their attacker, closer than he'd ever been.

She realized he couldn't reach her through the fire, unless he wanted to risk severe burns himself. Honestly, she wouldn't put it past him to try, with as tenacious as he'd been so far. She turned and ran; past the next set of rooms, past lurking inmates and piles of debris. Blindly, painfully, she did not stop, even when she was sure she heard something else chasing her. She tripped countless times, and her leg ached, but she didn't stop. Not until she finally turned a corner, pushed open a heavy door, and smelled rain.

The air was crisp and clean, the sky dark but clear. The rain had stopped.

Outside. She was _outside._

Jaye could feel herself start to laugh in hysteric relief, but moments later came to a heartbreaking realization. This was no exit. The surrounding area was wrapped in heavy duty fencing topped with barbed wire. If her leg wasn't hurt, she might be able to climb it, but even then she'd have to contend with the sharp deterrent up top.

A bit of haze blanketed the area, and it was because of that haze that Jaye had thought she had escaped for that fleeting, hopeful moment. Now, however, she could see that she was in some kind of outdoor…work area?

_'Probably part of a long-abandoned work release or therapy program,' _she thought.

All sorts of wood palettes and broken wood boards were stacked here and there, along with shovels, stakes, and tools. Well, now she knew where the twins had gotten their machetes.

To her right and against the fence was a large shed. Had she been in possession of Miles' map, she would have seen that the yard attached to the prison block was labeled the drying ground. But the map had been in his hand when he fell…or it had been burned up to nothing in the control room's inferno. So Jaye had no idea where she was, and she wasn't about to go asking anyone. Not that there really was anyone to ask, or at least not anyone who'd answer without taking a swing at her skull.

She thought of the reporter with a pang of guilt. She'd promised she wouldn't leave him behind. Yet she'd had to for her own survival. But she couldn't help but think there was something she could have done, even if it was only going back to see if he was still alive.

_'God, I hope he's okay.' _

What if the fall alone had killed him?

Jaye shook herself viciously for that thought. Miles was probably tougher than she thought. He'd been alone before they met, so if he'd been completely devoid of survival skills, she would have met his corpse instead. She'd just have to have faith that they'd meet again. Once she was able, she'd find him. She had absolutely no intention of breaking her promise. But until then, she had to focus on her own survival and, fate willing, find her brother too.

"Okay, think," she said to herself.

First off, she had to do something about the wound on her leg. She could feel the blood trickling down into her boot and her toes were starting to go numb. Not good signs.

The shed would get her out of the open in case anyone wandered this way. It seemed that there wasn't anyone nearby, which was both reassuring and yet totally unnerving. She was tired of running, and as her throbbing ribs reminded her, she could use a minute to legitimately catch her breath. She carefully made her way towards the shed, the mushy ground squishing underfoot every step. She couldn't hear or see anything that seemed dangerous, so by the time she stepped inside she was feeling a bit more calm. She was safe…for the moment.

Jaye limped into the shed and untucked her jeans from her left boot, then rolled and pushed the material up as far as she could. The cut leg was covered in blood and it was difficult to tell where the gash ended or began. After a quick rinse with water from her pack, Jaye saw that it wasn't as deep as she'd feared. But it was long, spanning from the bottom of her knee to halfway down her calf muscle. Cursing the fact that Simon had the first aid kit, Jaye opened her pack to search for something she could use as a bandage. Finding nothing, she slammed her hands down on the workbench in front of her…and immediately recoiled in disgust. Her gloves stuck to something on the wooden surface.

It was blood.

No surprises there, really, but beside the blood was a small, lumpy, misshapen object she couldn't identify. She rolled it over with a fingertip, and praised every god she could think of for her gloves.

The object was a doll…or at least it looked like it was intended to be one. Thick, coarse stitches held the crooked little head onto its lumpy body, arms and legs hanging on by mere threads. The thing didn't have hair or clothing, but it did have two eyes fashioned from something she couldn't identify. She could see the stuffing through gaps in the stitches, consisting of mud and grass likely gathered in the surrounding yard. The whole thing gave off a cold, heavy, meaty feeling, and Jay realized moments later that the casing was stitched from what was unmistakably human flesh. It had looked like leather at first, but it was definitely, definitely not _cow_ leather.

As soon as she realized that, she chucked the doll across the shed in disgust. It hit a nearby bucket with a dull thud and knocked it over, spilling over its contents.

More dolls. Dolls in every shape and size, and with many different skin colors. Not a single one was finished or clothed in any way, and the stitch patterns differed greatly from one to the next. They must have been rejected and discarded for some reason, as if their creator had a strong sense of perfectionism…in his own twisted way.

Jaye toed one of the dolls as she walked past, deciding that she'd seen enough. She'd take shelter somewhere else.

There were other buckets on the floor, some full of mud and others with flesh-doll parts. Spools of thread, piles of black stones and small round objects to serve as eyes; coins, marbles, screws and bolts, a bit of wire tangled into a ball…

There was a large plastic sheet a little further back, the kind one might find in a grocery store's stock freezer. The sheet was grimy, coated in mud and blood and other things. It was impossible to see through it, but Jaye could see a bit of light coming under and through it. A faint humming sound floated from behind it. There shouldn't be anything but the wall of the brick building there, but it was clear that a large hole had been broken into said wall. Was someone there?

She knew she should leave. Every fiber of her muscles wanted to, and every nerve in her body was alight with danger sense.

_**Get out, **_it warned. _**Get out while you actually can.**_

Jaye had every intention of obeying those instincts, but the song being hummed was familiar, carrying a childhood memory to her ears. She leaned closer to the plastic sheeting, straining her ears to listen. And almost unbidden, the words of the song drifted into her mind.

_When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother what will I be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me…_

She could hear those words, clear as day, though the voice was not singing. She'd heard the song many times when she was young, and it had given her comfort then. But hearing it here was anything but.

_**Danger. Get out. **_

The humming continued, while someone abruptly screamed. The sound was slightly muffled, as though through a gag, but it was clearly a scream of agony.

Yep. Time to go.

Jaye started for the door, but paused with her hands on the doorframe. Slowly, carefully, she crept back towards the curtain and lowered herself to look under it.

_'Just a quick look,' _she reasoned to herself. _'Just to get an idea of what I'm hiding from.' _

A simple, sputtering oil lamp provided enough illumination or her to see, but she dearly wished she couldn't.

Curiosity killed the cat, as they said.

A man lay tied to a low A-framed structure. His mouth was stitched shut with the same thread used to construct the dolls, and he was naked from head to toe. As for the dolls, and innumerable amount of them lay strewn about the room in macabre piles. The floor beneath the A-frame was stained red, more stain being provided by the bound man. Above him, a person with a thin, lithe, sinewy frame stood, making short movements with a knife. Also naked, the man had blotchy, patchy skin stitched in various places, and Jaye saw that some of the patches didn't match the rest of his skin tone. The figure had wickedly long, sharp fingernails crusted with bits of skin and dried blood, and the only hair on his body was a small wispy patch of gray on the back of his head.

He continued to hum the song while nonchalantly cutting lines into his victim. The bound man screamed as much as he could through his sewn lips, the A-frame shaking violently as he struggle to get free. The dollmaker did not pay him any mind or seem distracted from his cutting…at least not until the captive's struggles made him cut in a direction he hadn't wanted to.

The dollmaker froze, knife hanging in the air. He looked at the blade as if it had offended him and threw it aside.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said. His voice was soft, subdued, almost sounding like it would be more at home in a young child rather than a grown man. He said no more to his captive, but strode past he discarded blade, muttering "wrong tool for the job" before breaking into his humming again.

Jaye watched as the man vanished to some other part of his "workshop." Again her instincts screamed at her to get out, out, _**out**_, but one look at the man tied to the frame stopped her.

Bleeding, shaking, whimpering…the man seemed fully aware that he was going to die. Far smaller than most of the other variants she'd seen, the man probably hadn't stood a chance against he doll maker. He'd probably kill her for it, but Jaye refused to walk away. Sympathy was a wicked dog of an emotion. She ducked under the curtain and approached the man.

His back had several lines cut into it, precise cuts that mimicked a sewing pattern's layout. Blue ink marked dotted paths to be cut, places where the dollmaker would need a more delicate tool. Fully able to see the rest of the room, Jaye spotted a few bodies off to the side, all with the same sewing-pattern cuts sliced into and out of their flesh. So these were the materials the dolls had been made from…

The man jerked his head up in her direction, startled. Making eye contact with Jaye, he stopped whimpering as loudly and mumbled something that might have been "help me."

Jaye moved quickly to do just that. The ropes binding the man weren't overly sturdy, but his arms lacked muscle definition, and she could see the sharp edges of many of his bones through his skin.

How long had it been since he'd eaten?

How long ago had the staff at Murkoff abandoned him here for the sake of experimentation? For a moment, Jaye understood perfectly why so many of the patients had become cannibals. Like her, they were just trying to survive.

_'Yes, by eating __**you,**__' _she reminded herself.

She sawed through the ropes quickly. The man dropped off the frame, too weak to even stand right away. Gradually, he pushed himself up to look at her.

"There. You should go now, before he comes back," Jaye whispered to him.

He gave her what she assumed was the best version of a smile he could muster through a stitched moth. Jaye weakly returned the smile, glad that she was getting his gratitude instead of a fork in the eye. But then the man's expression changed to one of sheer terror and he scooted away into the shadows. Jaye felt the presence of someone behind her, their breath on the back of her neck. Teeth grinding, she whipped around.

The dollmaker looked to the empty frame, then to her.

"You shouldn't have done that."

She moved to run, but there was nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind. No shelter from the dollmaker.

His clawed, grimy hand shot out and seized the ends of her hair. She struggled and yanked, tried to pull free, but the monstrous man grabbed her hair by the roots instead. His sharp nails raked across her scalp, scratching bloody welts that stung badly. Jaye tried to pry his hand way from her head to no avail, to lunge at him with the knife. He knocked it from her hand and seized her wrists with one hand, displaying deceptive strength. He pinned her hands above her head, slamming her against the wall.

The new tool he'd gone looking for was poised over her throat, ready to tear into the soft flesh.

"What, what?" the dollmaker laughed, a dry, retched sound. "Porcelain? A rare find!"

"Wh-what?!"

Jaye was disgusted by his visage. One side of his face was dry and wrinkles, pulled back into piling ripples like dried mud. His teeth were exposed halfway across his bottom jaw, skin either ripped or rotted away. One eye was bloodshot and yellowed, the sclera showing signs of conjunctivitis, and the other hung completely out of his eye socket by the optic nerve. It swung horrendously with every movement he made.

The man traced the tool over her face with the lightest pressure. It did not cut, but the action did make goosebumps break out across her arms, every hair on her head that wasn't being yanked standing up. Jaye screwed her eyes shut as the man leaned close and sniffed her, willing not to flinch lest the tool cut her skin. She felt something smooth trace across the bridge of her nose. No doubt he was mapping every aspect of her face, from the freckles that dotted her cheeks and forehead to the scar across her nose, a keepsake from a schoolyard brawl when she was twelve. She still did not dare open her eyes, hoping he'd at least grant her a quick death.

The dollmaker finally stopped touching her face, moving away a few inches. Jaye cracked one eye open and fixed it upon his twisted face. She saw his torn mouth creak upwards into the most horrible smile she'd ever seen.

"Porcelain," he repeated, and moved his grip from her writs to her throat. "Just like her. I can finally make her doll. At last, she will forgive me."

_'I'm dead,' _was all Jaye could think. '_This crazy fucker is going to flay me alive.'_

Jaye's head suddenly flipped forward, then rammed into the wall with great force as the dollmaker slammed her head into the wall.

Pain exploded in her skull and her vision danced white at the edges. Then everything got all fuzzy and dark as Jaye lost consciousness, sliding into an inky pool of blackness.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews I've gotten so far! I'm really grateful that you're taking the time out of your day to read my story, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the content from here on out. Just a warning, this chapter contains some potentially upsetting imagery, so if you're squeamish about things like mutilation and eye-attacks, just tread lightly, okay?

Chapter **FIVE**

Time had become a meaningless mush of nonsense.

Jaye slid in and out of consciousness for a while, barely aware that she was being dragged, then lifted, and finally tied down. On the edge of pain-induced sleep and waking, Jaye struggled to focus on the images that played in brief flashes behind her eyelids.

She'd had dreams at first, nonsensical sequences completely unrelated to her dilemma. Then the nonsense had started to merge with her real situation (there had been one particularly absurd image of the huge tank-man with a party hat). Finally, as Jaye slowly drifted back into reality, the images became self-directed. She thought of better places to be, better experiences, better explorations, dreaming of the creature comforts of home.

Oddly, one of the first things she focused on was her dog Charlie. A great, hulking bear of an animal, Charlie was the biggest pushover she'd ever met. He always had been, since the day she and Simon had gotten him. Inadvertently, thoughts of the dumb dog led to thoughts of the year they'd gotten him, two years after the day their father had walked out of their life. Then a year after that, when Charlie was finally housebroken, their mother followed suit, unable to handle raising them alone and the stress of having two problematic middle-schoolers. Simon had been subject to a lot of bullying in those months since their father's departure, while Jaye had gotten into a lot of fights on his behalf. The twins were fourteen, old enough to understand exactly what had happened. So the day their mother walked out too, Jaye swore she'd never leave like they had, that she'd never, _ever_ be like them and abandon Simon. Their grandparents had provided for them until they were old enough to be independent, but neither sibling ever forgot the feeling their parents had left behind when they gave up.

But as Jaye came awake, the possibility of escaping to keep her promises seemed to shrink significantly.

It took a while for her eyes to focus, so great was the pain in her skull. It felt like a tiny person was using a jackhammer in the space behind her eyes.

_'Turn it off, tiny bastard,' _she thought.

Her vision wasn't the only problem. As she slowly returned to the world of the living, every ache and pain that she had sustained while running away had come back full force now that he adrenaline was wearing off. Her feet, her hands, her back...it felt like every square inch of her body was a massive bruise. Her cut leg felt like it was on fire, and she was shivering with cold. The cold was because her pullover was missing, leaving her in only a light gray tank top and her jeans, which had been ripped away on the left side from the knee down. Her gloves were gone too, and she felt practically naked. Thank goodness she hadn't been rendered barefoot though.

She could feel the sticky, itchy sensation of blood in her hair from the scabbed-over wounds. She tried to reach up to scratch the itch, but found that she couldn't move her arms at all. Both her arms and her legs were bound with smooth, strong rope, far stronger than the rope that had held the dollmaker's other captive.

_'I'm gonna be pissed if he tied me up with my own rope.'_

So she was cold, bound, sore, and had no idea where she was. It certainly wasn't the same spot as before, though it _was_ still a shed. A shed that had been generously decorated with hanging doll parts. Silver wires held up some, while others were nailed crudely to the wall. Some pieces looked fresher than others, a head here or there still dripping blood where the skin had been hastily cut and haphazardly sewn. A few of the drops landed near her head with a soft "plip" as they soaked into the wooden shipping palettes she'd been bound to. It was an awkward angle because her whole body couldn't fit. Instead, her upper body lay flat on the palettes, with her legs hanging off and tied so that her knees were propped up.

A sharp, stabbing pain in her injured leg drew her attention to her lower body. There sat the dollmaker, with a needle and thread, stitching her wound shut. What the?

He seemed to sense her watching him, and he looked up from his work to regard her.

"Ah, good. Good. You woke up. Thought I hit your head too hard, but no, no brain-scramble here," the man said, and chuckled.

Jaye's mouth fell open in horror. Part of her had been hoping, praying, futilely wishing that none of her experience had been real. But seeing his twisted, torn, sickening visage brought it all back. Jaye could feel one hell of a scream building up in her chest, boiling and condensing like a tea kettle. She began to hyperventilate, winding up to let loose her siren wail. But a sharp jab in the center of her wound kept her from doing that. Instead, only a short, shocked cry broke free.

"Dinner bells if you do that," the dollmaker chastised. "Dinner bells. Wouldn't uh...do that, were I you."

"Why...why the _fuck_ are you doing this to me?"

"Doing? Doing what?" the dollmaker cocked his head sideways at her, reminding her vaguely of a confused dog while also jangling the loose eyeball. It wobbled back and forth like a hypnotist's pocket watch, and for some reason Jaye couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from it. The variant seemed legitimately thrown off, as if he wasn't currently jabbing her with a needle.

"Why are you killing people, you sick fuck?" Jaye's voice was sharp with anger.

"Killing? I'm not killing. Not you. Not yet."

Then just what the hell was he going to do to her?

"Canvas needs priming," he said, as if that explained it all. "Porcelain takes special care."

Jaye didn't like the sound of that. It didn't help that as he'd said it, the dollmaker had stroked a hand up her exposed leg, fingers tracing the edges of the wound he was, for whatever reason, bothering to stitch. There was nothing warm about his touch. But it wasn't a sort of creepy, sexual touching either. It was cold, detached, the same way one might touch a new garment to gauge its texture and softness.

She almost would have felt better if his touch _had_ been the creepy sexual kind.

"The raw materials need to be whole," the dollmaker said. "No tears. No rough spots. Fix them. Fix the tears and rough spots."

And so he returned to his work of stitching the wound. She supposed she should be grateful to be getting free first aid, but if it was between limping with an open wound and being kept here like an object, she'd gladly adopt "hoppy" as a nickname. Besides, Jaye had serious doubts about his disinfecting skills. The wound was probably guaranteed to be infected.

Between the prick of the needle and the rotting doll parts strung from the ceiling, Jaye quickly grew to feel nauseous. The deepest parts of her psyche knew that what awaited her was as terrible as the fates that had befallen the last "canvases," if not worse. She'd seen the state of his other victims, and none of them had been shown even a modicum of care. What made her so special?

The dollmaker finished his stitches, then moved to pick up something else from atop a nearby crate. He stood there contemplating which object to grab, and Jaye took the chance to struggle while his back was turned. Her wrists twisted and strained against the ropes, legs flexing and pushing, but the ropes were tight and strong, and Jaye was feeling weaker than she had been earlier. The dollmaker turned around, noticed her struggling, and scowled. He kicked the pallets she was laying on and then leaned over her face, close enough for her to smell his fetid breath.

"Lay still," he said. "Lay still. This won't take long."

He held a long, rectangular rasp close to Jaye's face. The bumps on the rasp looked sharp, like they were more likely to shred skin than whatever bizarre form of exfoliation he had planned. Simply imagining the damage it would do, the crippling pain it would cause made her cringe.

"Fixed the tears," the dollmaker proclaimed, pressing the rasp to the side of her face. "Now, fix the rough spots."

"No! No! Let me go!"

He drew back and struck her hard across the face.

"Canvas doesn't talk!"

Jaye's head lolled to the side from the force of the blow. White noise danced across her vision for a few seconds, and she felt a sharp pain across the center of her face before tasting blood. Her nose went numb, and she could tell that the blood was from the old scar on her nose, freshly split open. Dazed, Jaye could only stare open-mouthed as the variant smiled that twisted, cold smile.

"Canvas is silent."

He lifted her shirt, pushing the tank top's fabric up her belly a few inches. Jaye's chest rose and fell rapidly with her shallow breaths. Never before had she felt so helpless, not even when she'd been fleeing from everyone and everything else. Those times, she'd had one thought, one motive that kept her going; _just keep running_. If she had done that instead of wandering into his lair, she wouldn't be here strapped down while some creep with one eye felt her skin like it was an animal pelt. She would have screamed again, but the dollmaker had risen and retrieved a bit of familiar green cloth; her pullover. It was in terrible shape, spotted with blood and cut into rough strips, one of which he used to gag her mouth. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but he was strong enough to pry her jaws open to shove the cloth in, and fast enough to withdraw his fingers before she could bite one.

"Canvas doesn't scream," he informed her. "But the canvas is without rough spots. Good. Good."

There was only a small amount of relief when he put the rasp down, apparently approving enough of her skin care regime to have no need for it. Oh _good_, now he could get to the killing even quicker.

Jaye renewed her squirming and flailing, screaming through the gag and hoping for some kind of salvation or at least a quick death.

"Lay _still_," the dollmaker snarled, gripping her by the throat and smashing her head back. He held a knife in place of the rasp..._her_ knife. Just how many of her own personal effects would be used against her? She froze as he flicked open the blade, the once comforting weapon now one of the most terrifying things she'd ever seen. She felt him pull aside the right strap of her tank top and poke the tip of the knife into the flesh right under the collarbone, close to her arm.

Jaye began to panic again, her heart pounding like a battering ram in her chest. She frantically shook her head, protests drowned out by the gag.

"Shh, shh. Lay still. I need a _swatch_."

But Jaye did not lay still. She screamed, struggled, bucked with agony, tears beading in her eyes and spilling over as he cut a square of skin out of her sensitive flesh. He was slow about it, deliberate and almost delicate, skillful despite her mighty struggling. It was without a doubt the most painful thing Jaye had ever experienced. No number of schoolyard brawls had ever produced something so agonizing. As the dollmaker pulled away with her bloodied skin in hand, it sank in fully for the first time that she might actually die here. If the single, small square had caused so much pain and bleeding (she could feel it soaking through her tank top), how much worse would it be when he cut his doll pattern out of her? The shock would kill her, she knew. There was no way she could endure that much pain.

But she'd rather die than watch him cart away more pieces of her. She had to get out somehow. If only he'd left her mouth unbound, maybe shoe could talk her way out. It had worked before, when the police had been alerted to the siblings' presence at a site closed to the public. She'd love desperately to be able to at least try. She watched the dollmaker wipe the blood off the skin side of the swatch and smile, holding the swatch up to the light.

"Yes. Porcelain. I must ask Big Sissy what she thinks. I must ask."

Vaguely, she registered that the dollmaker had a large scar on his body in the exact same spot where he'd cut her. Perhaps he'd cut part of his own skin off. A swatch for his "Big Sissy?"

Jaye certainly wasn't looking forward to meeting her, if she was the reason she was doing this.

"Stay here," he said to Jaye. "I must ask her. Big Sissy will...finally forgive me."

And then he was gone, footsteps fading completely from the shed. As soon as he was gone, Jaye began to open and close her legs as much as she could. She'd noticed when she finished her last bout of squirming that the rope around her legs had loosened and slid up ever so slightly. If she kept moving this way, she might be able to get it off.

_'If I have enough time,' _she thought.

No. She _would_ live through this.

She could get free. She just had to focus. She kept at it, her heart leaping in anxiety every time she heard any kind of sound in or around the shed. It was difficult because she was already tired out, her muscles screaming with pain. But slowly, slowly, the rope moved up inch by inch. It burned and stung when the rope's fibers rubbed over the stitches on her leg, but Jaye bore through it. It was not even half as bad as the pain of being cut by her own knife. At long last, the rope worked loose and she could straighten her legs. A triumphant giggle was muffled by the gag, which was looser than she thought. Pushing with her tongue, she was able to get the cloth over her teeth. Then she turned her head and pinned the part that ran over her cheek with her shoulder and began trying to pull it down. She was only able to get it to move a half and inch or so, but it was enough to get it out of her mouth. She did laugh then, a long string of relieved chuckles. There wasn't much she could do about her hands without help, though. Well, at least she could maybe bite him or kick him in the crotch or something. Hell, she'd probably be able to land a solid blow to his stupid, crooked skull now that her legs were free.

She shook as she realized how comfortable she was with the idea of killing him, it had been horrible before, gutting that patient in the hallway. Indeed, the guilt she felt still burned fresh from the incident.

But she had to live.

After being chased by cannibals and a walking battle tank, fleeing in the shadows and performing feats she'd never even try otherwise in order to escape, this was not how she wanted to die.

_'I'm gonna live. I'm going to keep my promises. I'll find Simon and Miles , and we'll get the hell out of here. Then I'm taking a vacation and making Simon quit this urbex shit.'_

She grit her teeth and tried to prop herself up with her feet, to maybe get a better angle to pry her hands loose. She gave up though, when she heard the dollmaker's footsteps returning. Hurriedly, she placed her legs back here they had been. Maybe he wouldn't notice the loose rope in the dim light. The dollmaker was carrying a cardboard box with him and he looked...pleased, of all things.

"Big Sissy likes it," he announced, setting the box down on his crate. "When the skin mends and the canvas is whole, I can make the doll."

His eyes drifted to the loosened gag and he frowned, but he didn't seem as angry as he'd been before. "Big Sissy's" approval had him positively glowing. In fact, he seemed much more concerned with the slowly-drying blood on her face from her re-split scar.

"More tears," he chided. "We'll have to fix those. Have to fix those..."

He waked back to the crate and his little box, probably trying to find his needle and thread again. He hadn't noticed her free legs yet. Jaye decided to take a gamble, a wild shot in the dark, and opened her mouth to speak.

"W-who is Big Sissy?"

Her question seemed to give the dollmaker pause and he turned to regard her prone form, then back towards the box. He had a puzzled expression on his face, and Jaye watched his loose eye swing as he leaned in towards the cardboard. One hand was cupped about his ear, as if he was amplifying a sound.

"What? _Show_?" he spoke to the box. Jaye cringed in disgust at the thought of there maybe being a severed head in there. The man looked back at her.

"Yes. _Show_. Only right she knows who the doll is for."

he reached into the box and slowly withdrew its contents.

Oh, it was a severed head alright. That in and of itself was not what made her stomach turn—after seeing a man get his head literally torn off, severed heads were just another part of the scenery. It was the state of the thing that got to her.

It was a female's head, and the skin was remarkably well-preserved and free of decay. There was still hair on the scalp, and the lips were shriveled back over the slightly agape mouth. But that was where its "normality" ended. The entire thing was covered in patches like the dollmaker's skin, different tones giving off an odd sheen. Indeed, the entire thing had such a sheen, and Jaye wondered if it was coated in some kind of resin. The cheeks had stitched gashes and scars, one particularly long one spanning from the hairline all the way down to where the neck was cut.

The eyes were different colors, a blatant mismatch. Probably, one of them was a replacement, a donor eye of sorts the dollmaker had stuck into the head. It was clear that a lot of care had been put into preserving the head.

This was Big Sissy? Just what the hell kind of twisted Wonderland was this guy living inside his head?

"Y-you...what..."

Jaye couldn't even form cohesive words, instead swallowing the lump of terror that had formed in her throat. It felt like a miracle that she was even able to produce the mangled sounds she did. She felt her very bones tremble with disgust at the heads appearance.

"The doll is...it's for _that_?"

The struggle to fight the need to vomit was powerful.

"Has to be the right one. Has to be the right one so Big Sissy will forgive me."

Jaye swallowed thickly again, mouth feeling as dry as a desert. She was surprised he was even talking to her, that he didn't seem overly angry about her mouth being free to run. Maybe, just maybe she could keep him talking and distract him long enough to keep trying to break free. But she would have to choose her words carefully to avoid angering him.

"I'm sure," Jaye said slowly. "Whatever it is that you did, she'd forgive you. I know, because...because I'm a big sister too."

The dollmaker froze, scrutinizing her closely as if looking for a crack in her facade, to detect a lie. He held the head close to himself, cradling it like he would a small child. She saw him stroke the hair very gently, mindful not to pull out any of the strands.

"You are a sister?"

"Yes," Jaye answered, feeling encouraged by how this was going. "I came here with my brother but we got separated. I have to find him. He could be hurt, or worse. Would you...would you let me go find him? If I don't—"

"No!"

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Appealing to the humanity of a man who had none had been a predestined failure.

"You can't. You can't. You go, and I'll never finish her doll. She'll never forgive me. Is that what you want? You don't want her to forgive me!"

The dollmaker's voice had dropped to a sudden low, frightening growl, every sinew of his body drawn in tight like the body of a pouncing cat. Jaye's own muscles drew tight in anticipating anxiety. Never before had she felt such a raw sensation of impending doom.

"What? No, I-of course I want her to forgive you! But if I don't go find my brother, _he'll_ never forgive _me!_"

"You don't understand! You can't understand! The things they did to Big Sissy...You _won't_ understand. Liars don't get to know! The canvas doesn't talk!"

She saw him toss the head back into the box and reach for his needle and thread again.

Oh god, what was he going to do now?

He lunged for her, holding her face with one hand and snarling right in her face.

"No. More. Words."

Oh. He was going to sew her mouth shut.

Jaye shrieked and struggled, pushing with her feet and flailing back and forth with as much energy as she could muster.

"Hold still!" the dollmaker roared. "I _have_ to do this!"

'"Fuck you!" Jaye hissed, and managed to finally, finally get one hand free.

But just as she moved to pry the other one loose, the man seized her by the hair and undid her bonds himself. He dragged her, kicking and screaming over to the crate, fished the head out of the box with one hand, and shoved it right in her face. He yanked her down, dragging her out of the shed and into the cold outdoors.

"You will be my apology."

Jaye clawed at his wrists as he dragged her across the yard towards another building. His grip never relented, even when Jaye's scratches drew blood and peeled the patchy skin off in strips. His clawed hands re-opened the wounds on her scalp and added some new ones.

The dollmaker slammed open a side door on the building, not bothering to close it. Where was he taking her?

Jaye continued to fight as much as her weakened body would allow. It took every ounce of her energy, but she refused to go quietly. If he was going to kill her, she was going to make it as aggravating as possible for him. Her body slid over hunks of debris and filth, and even as she gripped her head to keep her hair from ripping out by the roots, she could feel pinpricks of broken glass in her bare leg.

The dollmaker walked like that for ages, until Jaye totally lost track of how many turns he'd taken and she had screamed herself hoarse. She didn't have much fight left. She was close to giving up and going limp to accept whatever fate awaited her. It would be easier. Less painful.

But as they rounded yet another corner and the dollmaker paused to get his bearings, she saw a familiar frame in the dark. The figure saw her too, and raised a pale finger to cracked, stitched lips to shush her.

The dollmaker resumed walking, and Jaye watched as the man followed after, staying to the shadows as much as possible. They finally came to a stop in a large, open area with a lot of large pieces of equipment strewn about, none of which Jaye could get a good look at, let alone identify. Her captor set the head on a high-set table nearby and, to Jaye's disgust, kissed it on its open, dead mouth. She gagged and squeezed her eyes shut, since she couldn't turn her head. The man then wrenched on her hair and directed her toward something large and circular and threw her down.

She tried weakly to scramble away on all fours, but he was there, kneeling beside her and grasping her bloodied curls again. She sank her teeth into his arm when he got close enough. The bite was deep and savage, so much so that blood oozed from the man's veins and dripped into her mouth, but he didn't let go. Instead he slapped her hard enough that her scar began to bleed anew. Her vision danced as her eyeballs practically rattled in their sockets. She could feel him winding her hair around something and pulling it tight.

_'Oh, god!'_

He'd fed the ends of her hair into a spinning wheel. That was what the circular object was. He intended to scalp her.

"Now," the variant panted. "Now, you will appreciate my hard work. I must do this! For what mommy did to Big Sissy."

There was a loud grinding noise as he began to manually turn the wheel. The noise helped Jaye's vision to focus, and just as the wheel started to crank hard enough to hurt, she saw a shadow near the door. She felt a wild thrill of hope seeing the creeping shadow, and when she saw the pale form of the inmate she'd saved, clutching the very blade the dollmaker had been using on his flesh, she knew she had to act.

The dollmaker was close to her, but not close enough that she could really do much damage by hitting him. Biting had done nothing, and indeed he seemed almost impervious to pain. She had to do something, cause a distraction for the small inmate. She couldn't bite him, she couldn't scratch him, his sister's severed head was out of reach...

The _eye._

She watched his dangling eye swiveling just a couple feet above her. She hadn't even thought about it, but if she'd just reach up a little...

Jaye let go of her hair and her left hand shot up, seizing hold of the eye. She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and pulled. The eye peeled out of the socket the rest of the way with a sickening rip as the optic nerve detached. Jaye tossed the disgusting object aside just as the dollmaker let loose an unholy screech.

"No!" he screamed and clutched the now completely-empty socket. Jaye sat up as much as she could, bracing herself for his retaliation. Then out of the darkness came a small silvery flash.

The rescued inmate lunged at the dollmaker. Taken by surprise and reeling from his bleeding socket, the dollmaker stumbled...and the inmate sank the knife into his gut, drawing it across his innards with a strength Jaye couldn't have imagined him to have.

Just like that, it was over. He wasn't dead, but the dollmaker wasn't getting up any time soon.

The victorious inmate approached Jaye then, and for a moment she feared he would finish her off too. But the pull on her hair gradually lessened as the inmate cut the ends of her hair free. It was even bloodier now, and significantly shorter in places, but she didn't care. She sat up, almost in disbelief that it was over. She looked up at her unlikely savior with an enormous smile of gratitude. He offered a single nod in return, then turned and took his leave, vanishing down a darkened hall. That was the extent of their interaction, but Jaye understood.

An eye for an eye. He'd repaid her for saving his life.

Jaye stood on shaky legs, bracing herself against he nearest table. It took a moment for it to really, truly sink in that she was alive, that she was whole and still breathing. She looked at the head sitting silent on the table, and rage began to build its way to the surface. Her brow creased and her mouth twisted into a sneer as he looked to the broken, sobbing, gutted dollmaker on the floor.

He'd hit her, bound her, cut her, taken _pieces_ of her. He'd treated her flesh like fabric, free for the taking. He'd cost her precious time she could have been using to hunt for the people she'd made promises to.

Any sympathy she might have had for him was dead and buried...not that she'd had any to begin with.

She grabbed the head by its hair and threw it down right next to the dollmaker. The man screamed and reached for his sister, but Jaye's booted foot pinned it to the ground. She glared down at him with hate.

"Makes you wish you'd tied me up better, huh?"

She stomped down as hard as she could.

Then she waked away, leaving the screaming man behind clutching the crushed remains of the head.

She knew she had lost something that day. She could not quite place the new emotion, but it didn't matter. She had to go on. It didn't matter where she was, or who she encountered. There was only the dire need to get away, to live.

She walked until her sore body finally gave out. At that point, everything else seemed to break down too, and she collapsed to the floor. Hysteric laughter escaped her chest, loud and continuous. She couldn't stop it, no matter how hard she tried, and gradually the laughter dissolved into broken sobs as she wrapped her arms around her legs. She stayed like that for several minutes, simply sitting and crying to herself in the dark. But a sudden presence in front of her ceased her sobbing a few minutes later. Jaye glanced up, let out a terrified shriek, and scooted backwards under a table. There was a man there. She hadn't even heard him approach. He was just...t_here_ one moment.

_'Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god, it's just one thing after another!'_

She didn't have the energy to run anymore. Whatever..._whoever_ this was, she was just ready to accept the end. Weakly, she raised her head.

"Oh, darling, did I frighten you?"

Wow. Someone capable of forming a cohesive sentence? Jaye hadn't seen one of those in a while. She would actually be impressed if she wasn't so terrified. He sounded lucid enough, if hindered by something of a lisp, but Jaye highly doubted he was anything like Miles. The pleasant demeanor could be a front for yet another murderous core.

Not to mention, his emphasis on the word "darling" was more than a little freaky.

"Come now, darling. I'm not going to harm you. I only intend to help. Come out. There's nothing to be frightened of."

Jaye was, quite reasonably, not inclined to believe that bullshit for a second, but weighing her options, and finding that she had none, she feebly pushed herself forward. She dreaded finding out what he'd do if she decided to stay under the table. Inch by inch, like an easily spooked deer, she emerged.

"There now, that wasn't so difficult, was it dear? Come, step into the light. I want to _see_ you."

He backed away into a swathe of light that spilled into the room through a broken window.

_Geezus,_ he was tall. At 5'6", Jaye considered herself a decently average height, but the man easily towered over her. He wore what looked like a patchwork tuxedo, minus the jacket, and his eyes were completely bloodshot red. Briefly, she thought about running, but she'd only gotten here through several minutes of blind groping in the dark, and he looked like he had a good amount of muscle on him. Reluctantly, she did as he asked, feeling with every step that she was walking into a shark's open mouth.

Finally, she stepped into the light, clutching the wound on her collarbone and facing the man head on. It was time to see if he was friend or foe.

The man's face split into a wide grin when he saw the light spill across her form.

"Oh, darling, you..."

He reached for her, before she could make a move or take another breath, and unexpectedly yanked her into his arms, a tight embrace.

"We're going to be so _happy_ together, my darling."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter** SIX**

The man's embrace was tight, but not crushing. If Jaye didn't know any better, she'd almost call his touch tender. She did not hug him back, too stunned to move. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and she could feel his hot, slightly sour-smelling breath on the back of her neck. Aye drew in a sharp gasp when the man threaded his fingers through her uneven, cropped hair, then buried his face in the crook of her neck.

_'Oh god. Please don't make him sniff me.'_

"Darling, darling, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you," he breathed against her skin. Oh damn, what had she walked into? "I've spent so much time making a home for us. No matter what I did, it still felt empty. But now, you're here. Now, it's home."

He released his grip on her, but kept his hands on her shoulders. He backed up just a few inches, just enough to get a good look at her. The way he swept his gaze up and down her body made her feel like she was back with the dollmaker. This was not how a person looked at another person. This was how a person appraised an object.

So what object was she to him?

"Just who...who are you?" she whispered.

"Why darling, don't you recognize your own fiance?" The look in his eyes bordered on hurt, then suddenly flickered to finely-honed fury. "Are you...trying to leave me? Like all those other whores?"

Jaye's breathing shook. The way he'd tightened his grip on her shoulders, the sudden mood whiplash, and the angry edge to his words spoke of something volatile. She felt like she was sitting within the coils of a venomous snake. She'd have to tread very, very carefully.

"You're all the same. Ungrateful wretches."

"I...I hit my head earlier," Jaye weakly protested. "A few times. I...don't even know where I am."

It wasn't a lie, by any means, but the look on the man's face told her that he thought it was. He grasped the back of her sore, cut head and drew her close. His own face was a mere few centimeters from hers, close enough for her to count the red patches on one side of his face. His bloodshot eyes were staring into her wide ones, fingers still tangled in her hair. But then, just as suddenly as the dark mood was there, it was gone. He must have felt the blood on her scalp, the crusted scabs flaking off on his rough fingers. She knew he saw the blood on her face. His hold gentled, and he gave her a very concerned frown.

"Oh, darling. It must have been quite the ordeal! I hope you can forgive me for snapping at you like that. Ah, Eddie you brute."

Sweet Christ on a stick, what the hell was this guy's problem? The sudden mood swing threw her off completely. It was like someone had flipped a switch or something. How easily he went back to being tranquil, as if he'd shown no signs of the anger at all.

"And this, darling, how did this happen?"

He was prodding at the wound on her chest, and Jaye couldn't fight the yelp that escaped her. Eddie—since that was how he had identified himself, she assumed that was his name—peeled back the bloodied tank top and measured the wound with his fingers.

"Ahh...there was a man—" she began, cut off when Eddie suddenly jammed his fingers into her wound. That was apparently the wrong thing to say. She saw the fury returning to his face.

"You let someone else touch you?" he growled.

Jaye wanted to scream at him, slap his hands away and tell him how completely fucking nuts he was before running away, tell him that he and the rest of the inhabitants of this godawful place could burn for all she cared. Who the hell did he think he was? What was his problem?

But she reminded herself that she was exhausted, and he looked far stronger than she was. He'd chase her down in a heartbeat.

"I...no! He hurt me. I didn't _let_ him do anything!"

_'And I'm not gonna let you do anything either,'_ she thought.

"If you're lying to me, you little slut..."

Whatever fever-fueled delusion this man was living in had to have him convinced that she was someone else. That was the only explanation for it. She had no idea what he was talking about, who he thought she was, or why he thought he was her fiance. This daydream of his had him convinced they were in love, for crying out loud, and they'd met literally seconds ago. Jaye had a feeling that there was more—much more to it, and she really didn't want to be fueling his delusion, but until she regained her strength and figured out an escape route, she was in his clutches. Quite literally.

What was it he'd said? This was "home?" Geez, was he living in some bizarre fantasy world or what? Time to put her talent for talking out of trouble to the test.

"Eddie," she said, tone very gentle as though she was speaking to a child. "Can't we just let it go?"

"_Let it go_? How could you say that? You're just like _them_! Just like the rest!"

"It's not that," Jaye shook her head fiercely. It took every ounce of control she had not to let her fear win. "I...I'll be honest, I don't know you at all. I don't know if it's because I hit my head or if it's because of something else but...can't we just start over? Please? I don't know what's going on, but I'm tired and I hurt, and I'm so, so sorry if I did something to make you upset. I really just don't know."

The funny part was, with one exception, none of that had been a lie. The only fib she'd told was in regards to her memory. Of course she didn't know him! She'd never seen him in her entire life, and she definitely would have remembered if she had. She wasn't sure how much actual lying she'd be able to do under pressure, but she could bend the truth just enough, and she was sure as hell intelligent enough to leave some details out.

That didn't mean she felt good doing it. The Murkoff Corporation had told more than enough half-truths to the asylum's inhabitants. Those half-truths had broken them and warped their perceptions badly. With as pleading, temperamental, and possessive as this man seemed to be, Jaye was willing to bet some particularly fucked-up things had befallen him. Like the dollmaker, he seemed completely detached from reality, like there was no blood and carnage around him. Maybe the things that had broken him had happened both before _and_ after his arrival.

To his credit, he looked like he wanted to believe her, but something was keeping him from being totally convinced. Jaye _needed_ him to believe her. She had felt the strength in his hands, and she didn't want them ending up around her throat.

"I don't know what they did to you, but I'm not them. I'm just...me. Please..."

He was still hesitating, hands clenching and unclenching as if he was considering which was a more favorable option; embracing her, or strangling her. Shaking, Jaye reached for one of his hands and grasped it in her own. Utterly terrified, she slowly laid his hand on her face and cradled it with both of hers. She hoped the gesture was one that seemed sincere and tender enough for him to calm down.

He made his decision and Jaye nearly wept with relief as the fury melted away again. He seemed...confused, if anything. Welcome to the club, buddy.

Eddie pulled her close again and Jaye did not fight him.

"My poor, sweet darling. You really are confused. But you have nothing to fear any more. I'm here now. I can fill that emptiness, make you whole again. Come now my dear, you must be exhausted. I'll take care of you."

Internally, Jaye was screaming at herself. She should be running far, running fast, biting and kicking and clawing and tearing. She should be at home, curled up on the couch reading a trashy romance novel while devouring doughnuts. Her stupid dog should be trying to push his way onto her lap even though he was an old man by canine standards and definitely not a lapdog.

This was all Simon's fault, and if she ever met the bastard alive again, she was going to knock his eyeballs right out of his skull. Gods, she missed her brother. She prayed that, wherever he was, he was in a far better situation than she was. It was funny. She was never one for prayers, or believing in any higher power at all, really. She just hadn't cared enough before. But now that she was here, she supposed it was as good a time as any to start believing. Praying to a capricious god at least offered a little comfort.

But her thoughts were jostled as Eddie suddenly picked her up bridal-style. Wasn't this taking the whole "fiance" thing a little far? Her injured leg was in full view for the first time and Jaye cringed at the sight of it. The edges of the wound were raw and red and it definitely looked infected, not to mention swollen to hell.

"Don't worry about that at all, my dearest. We'll take care of all your aches and pains. You just leave everything to me."

Jaye felt very small and very vulnerable in Eddie's arms, like she'd shatter if he dropped her. She'd never felt small in all her life, but it seemed that everything in this place was determined to change that. Jaye didn't respond to Eddie, or look at him, but she did adopt what she hoped was at least a half-convincing smile and try not to focus on the hot-sour smell of his breath.

He carried her with long, even strides down the halls past darkened rooms where Jaye couldn't see a thing. He only slowed down when he reached a room full of sewing machines and dress forms. A bit of light poured in from outside, enough to see that Eddie was also a member of the blood painters club. Hadn't anyone heard of chalk? Idly, Jaye wondered if there was a single person in the facility who _hadn't _killed someone else. Well, if there was such a group, Jaye really couldn't count herself as part of that minority anymore.

There were drawings there too, both on proper easels and paper and on the walls alongside cliche sayings painted with vital fluids.

"Love makes a house a home" and " a woman's work is never done" were just two of the sayings. Near the latter, a broad, masculine figure had been painted wearing what looked to be a ...wedding dress? She didn't even want to consider that avenue of thought. And why was the figure a male?

_'Never mind. Not important. Don't think about it.'_

Eddie finally stopped in a connected room featuring furniture draped in cloth. He held onto her for a moment longer (which was longer than necessary in Jaye's opinion), then set her down on something that seemed soft. An old bed, perhaps? It was softer than the floor, at any rate. A quick glance about the room revealed a few items with a personal touch; a few pictures, likely cut out from magazines, some sewing supplies stashed in a corner, and a myriad of broken lamps. Was this where he slept? Oh god, was she _sitting _where he slept?

Jaye felt Eddie's fingers poking at the wound on her collarbone again. She tried not to squirm so much as he gauged its depth and width, but the rough skin and the salt of his fingers flat-out _burned_. She could feel tears beading in her eyes and she bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out. Finally he stopped touching her, drawing back with a deeply-etched frown. When he spoke, his voice was a barely-contained growl.

"That's quite the scrape, my darling, but I promised I would take care of everything. First, we need to clean you up, rid you of all of this...filth. And perhaps we can find something less...provocative for you to wear."

He eyed her blood-soaked, dirty, torn clothes with a sneer. He considered _this_ provocative? What did he have in mind, a potato sack? Sure, it showed her leg (shock and horror) and her bare arms, but it wasn't exactly the most glamorous outfit in the world. And it wasn't like her ass was showing or anything. His eyes lingered on her chest a bit longer than necessary, then traced down to the wide flare of her hips. It felt like he was literally sizing her up, but more than that it felt wrong, so so wrong. What would happen if she didn't fit into whatever picture he had in his mind?

She'd never been overly self-conscious, but Eddie's gaze made her feel like she was. Jaye felt like his approval would almost be a bad thing.

"Yes, I have just the thing," he said. "You just wait right here."

He turned then and left her, and Jaye felt that wild, exhilarating jolt of hope again. She could go. Now. But she had barely placed one foot on the floor before Eddie returned, his hands behind his back and a pleasant smile on his face. Had he decided to just get it over with and kill her after all?

'I nearly forgot something," he said and walked to the bed with what felt to her like menace. She felt the mattress sink down as he rested his weight on it, leaning over her. He was way, way too close, so Jaye sunk back down to put space between them. But Eddie followed and grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head. His fingers caressed her wrists, sparking a deep fear that something worse was to follow. But then Jaye felt coarse scratching instead, and almost felt relieved when he tied her wrists and then looped the ends of the rope around the steel ladder of the bed frame.

"I can't have you wandering around while I'm gone. It's just not safe. I hope you'll understand."

"I couldn't leave even if I wanted to," Jaye said, adopting a massive shit-eating grin that she hoped would dispel the wild panic rising up in her chest.

"No indeed," Eddie answered with a smile of his own, tapping her nose with one finger. "I won't be long, I promise."

As soon as he was out of sight, Jaye began struggling with her bonds. But within seconds, it became apparent that unlike the dollmaker, Eddie knew what he was doing when it came to tying up his victims. Instead, she took another look around the room for any possible escape routes. There weren't any vents in the building, at least not that she had seen so far. The building was probably an older part of the facility. There were a couple of windows, but they didn't look easy to break. The glass looked old and thick, the kind that only a heavy object or a very strong psychopath could smash. She supposed that she could make a run for it down the halls, but given that Eddie had called this place his "home," there was a good chance that he'd find a side route to cut her off.

So her only real option was to bide her time long enough for him to drop his guard or go to sleep or something. She just hoped he didn't plan on keeping her tied up the whole time.

For now though, what she needed to do was rest. She was actually glad he'd carried her, because every muscle in her body was spent. She probably couldn't even manage to go fifty feet if she was free. Her head was still pounding away too. So Jaye did her best to relax in her awkward position, closing her eyes to attempt to rest. But shortly, a buzzing noise invaded her ears. She thought it was just from the dull ache of her head, but it was persistent and steady, and growing louder. She kept her eyes shut for a few minutes, hoping the buzzing might abate. But it grew to a point of being painful. She could feel a sort of thrumming deep in her chest, vibrating her ribcage.

This noise was not because of her head, it was outside. Jaye opened her eyes to find the source.

There wasn't anything immediately obvious, just the scant light from the windows and the eerie shadows cast by the covered furniture. There wasn't any machinery that would produce a sound like that, and Jaye was definitely not imagining it. The buzzing suddenly stopped for a minute, and she was about to write it off as the old, faulty wiring in the building acting up. But then she saw it.

There was a very faint shape in the doorway, the outline of a man. It looked almost like the figure was leaning against the door frame, but he shape wasn't solid enough for her to tell.

A...ghost? Was she hallucinating now? It wouldn't be too shocking, given the trauma she'd already experienced. Indeed, it wouldn't be the first time her mind had played tricks on her since arriving. Many times before, there'd been movement in the shadows that she'd disregarded, either because she was busy running for her life, or because there were patients nearby who could have cast them. But there was no disregarding this shadow. It was static and tangible, and when it moved its head up, a pair of dark holes just as faint revealed themselves, and the buzzing began anew.

Jaye screwed her eyes shut and sincerely wished she could cover her ears. The buzzing grew even louder, and Jaye strained against the ropes. Its start-stop pattern was maddening. She thought her head might split in two if it didn't stop. When it finally did, Jaye was full-on crying, tears trickling down her face to further dirty her hair.

_'Okay. I'm going to open my eyes, and it's going to be gone. It wasn't real. Wasn't real. Wasn't real.' _

Jaye slowly opened her eyes, relieved that the noise was gone, only to flinch in terror. The shadow was there, its barely-visible face near to hers. It floated above her body, above the bed, and it was just...staring at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but sound refused to come out. Had she finally lost it? In the last few hours, had her mind just up and completely snapped without her realizing it? She hadn't thought herself so weak-willed, but what did she know?

But then the thing reached out a wispy hand, one ghostly finger touching to the skin just below her lower lip. The touch was odd and tingly, but definitely real. She wondered if her chances would be better with the shadow-thing than her new captor, or if it would just splatter her against the wall then and there. But that was all the touch was, and soon enough she saw the thing move out of the room, seeming to dissolve into smoke and blend into the dark. She stared at the spot where it had gone, too stunned to even form a thought process.

When Eddie returned a little while later, she still had that petrified look on her face.

"I'm awfully sorry I had to leave you alone for so long. I just couldn't decide which of these would suit you best."

He was holding a bunch of cloth, she saw. White cloth, dresses with long trains and trailing lace and tulle and ruffles and pearls.

Eddie placed the dresses down on a nearby covered chair and moved to undo her ropes. When he bent close to her, he saw the stricken look.

"Why, darling, I had no idea my absence would affect you so much. You look as though you've seen a ghost. Come now, let's get you cleaned up."

_'Do I? Did I? I...think I did. What the hell was that thing? What the hell is going on here?'_

Jaye didn't move or speak as Eddie undid the ropes and pulled her to stand. He released her hands, but before he stepped away from her he leaned down, close to her ear.

"I really hope you aren't like_ them_," he said to her. "I'm giving you a chance to prove your loyalty and love. So, don't go getting any ideas about running away, hm?"

Jaye shook her head. She really wished she knew who these "others" were so that she might avoid committing their same crimes. But all she had to go on was the knowledge that there _had_ been others. Had they escaped, or had they enraged him enough to kill them? She hadn't seen any bodies, but that didn't mean a damn thing. She had not yet seen Eddie at his worst. She had no idea how truly dangerous he was. But she was determined to do what she could so that she _wouldn't_ see his most dangerous state. She'd been lucky so far. Silence seemed like her best bet.

Eddie held one of the dresses up to her body to judge the fit. It was most definitely a wedding dress, and knowing that made Jaye's stomach drop to somewhere near her feet.

"Stop fidgeting, darling. If you don't stop moving around, I won't be able to check the length before you put it on."

"I don't want to put it on."

Tense silence followed for only a second until Jaye realized she'd said that out loud.

"No wait, I just meant that I—"

The damage had already been done. She watched Eddie's switch flip again and he caught her up by the throat, giving it a good squeeze and lifting her frighteningly easily with one hand.

"I thought you might be different, that we could make a family together. But I see now that I was wrong. You're just like those other whores! Just another _slut_!"

"N-no! I didn't mean—"

"Why does everyone want to leave me? All I ever wanted was a family, a legacy. I would have taken care of you, but I can see now that you're nothing but selfish!"

He threw her down and advanced on her, drawing a knife that had been clipped to his belt. Jaye desperately wished she still had hers, but it was back in the dollmaker's shed. She scrambled backwards and wound up backing into the bed. She ducked under it and began to wriggle out the other side, but Eddie seized a foot before she got far and yanked her back out. Flipping over onto her back, Jaye put her hands in a defensive position and locked eyes with her would-be murderer just as he raised the knife to attack.

"No! Oh please! Please! I didn't mean that! I do want to be together! I want to be with you! I was just..."

She was spitting out lies now in a poor attempt at saving her hide. Jaye's voice dropped to a small, desperate whisper when it became clear that Eddie wasn't listening.

"I didn't want to get blood on the dress. Please..."

_'Pretty lame last words, don't you think?' _she chastised herself and pressed her hands over her eyes, bracing herself for the pain.

But when it didn't come, Jaye wondered if Eddie had dropped over dead or something. Wouldn't that be nice?

She uncovered her eyes and glanced at the towering man. He seemed to have frozen in place. The knife in his hand shook wildly as he took short, ragged breaths. The sneer was still on his face, teeth bared like a wolf's. He looked pained, as if the only thing that would rid him of it would be to plunge the knife hilt-deep into her chest. If he decided that was the thing to do, Jaye was powerless to stop him. Her fate was now in his shaking hands.

_'I don't know what you want me to say or do. I don't even know what I did wrong.' _

"If you're going to kill me, please just do it," Jaye begged. She wasn't sure how many more mood swings she could handle. "If killing me is what you really want, then just do it. I don't understand what you want from me."

Death? Family? Frankly, Jaye was convinced that they went hand in hand. She wondered how close he'd managed to get to that goal. If he was willing to kill her over a small infringement, she doubted anyone else had had better luck.

"I want..."

At last, he seemed to calm himself by degrees. His grip slackened, then his teeth unclenched and his breathing evened out. Yet he still looked conflicted. Eddie was fighting with himself again, his murderous impulses at odds with his fixation on this imagined romance. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing a few stray strands back into place. Finally, he put the knife away. Good. He seemed calmer.

"I want to make you whole, make _us_ whole. I want to grow our family. But darling, my sweet precious darling, you're making it so hard to trust you. Relationships are built on trust, and if there isn't any, the relationship will crumble. Don't you trust _me_?"

_'Not with a hard-boiled egg, you crazy son of a bitch!'_ was what Jaye wanted to say. Luckily, her desire to live won over the idiocy.

"Of course I do! I was just...scared. So scared. I've been scared of everything today."

"That's right," Eddie said, sounding surprisingly relieved. "You did suffer a few things in order to get here. I know this, and I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying so hard, my love."

"You are," Jaye agreed. "You're doing your best for my sake. It's all just so overwhelming, all of this happening at once."

That was the understatement of the century.

Eddie smiled and reached down for her. Reluctantly, she accepted it and he pulled her close. She could feel the defined muscles in his arms and chest as he held her, muscles that could tear her in half too easily. He was firm and surprisingly warm. Perhaps she just hadn't realized how cold the room was until all her blood had frozen in fear within her veins. She saw him squeeze his eyes shut, breathing in deeply as he held her tight, his features relaxing. Once upon a time, he might have been handsome. There were hints there under the deformities and the blood splatter and the crazed eyes. And if he hadn't been trying to kill her, Jaye might appreciate his muscular frame too. But right now, his muscles were nothing but a cage, his strength a leash that robbed her of her ability to run.

"I understand," he said. "You must be unused to such attention. I'm sorry. I must have seemed so...vulgar to you just now. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

_'If it means you won't shank me? Oh yeah. I can fake forgiveness until the cows come home.' _

"I already have," Jaye lied. _God,_ she hated lies. They never felt quite convincing enough, never tasted good on her tongue. "Can _you_ forgive _me_? I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm afraid you'll have to earn your forgiveness," Eddie chuckled and tapped her nose again. "But let's not worry about that anymore, hm? We have to get you ready. It's going to be a big, big day, after all."

"Is it?"

"Why of course it is, my darling! After all, it's not every day a girl gets married!"

He gave no further explanation, but really, how much more was needed? Truth be told, she had forgotten about that little detail. She wanted to protest again, but the best way to stay on Eddie's good side was probably just to keep her mouth shut. Jaye allowed herself to be led by the hand. They eventually reached a restroom area and Eddie turned on one of the faucets. Honestly, Jaye was a little surprised that there was running water. Sure, the electricity had been on in other parts of the facility, but everything was just so derelict and run-down that it all looked like it had been abandoned for years. Hell, she'd seen actual abandoned hospitals in better condition.

Once the water was hot enough to produce visible steam, Jaye stepped towards the sink to wash up, but one of Eddie's large hands stopped her.

"Darling, allow me."

_'Oh my what a perfect gentleman. How kind of you to dress my wounds before you plan on gutting me.'_

Jaye bit her lip, then decided to just let him do what he wanted. Better to suffer a few minutes of man-handling than to tick him off again. She nodded almost imperceptibly and hung her arms at her sides. Eddie smiled, that too-wide smile a child might make when he got to play with his favorite toy or have an extra bit of ice cream before bed. He'd brought a towel with him along with the dresses. It was a rough, scratchy affair that looked like it had seen its fair share of stains. He ran it under the hot water and wrung it out before leaning over her and beginning to scrub the dirt and blood off, starting with her face.

The cloth was scratchy and scraped more than she expected. Or maybe Eddie was just a bit more rough than he needed to be. Jaye didn't dare complain though, even when it scratched over the bridge of her nose to scrub the raw, tender scar. It didn't take long for him to finish, and he rinsed the cloth out to start on her other wounds. The water ran a startling amount of red, but she'd always bled like a stuck pig, so she wasn't too worried about it.

"There we are, as clean and bright as porcelain." Eddie commented, pleased with his handiwork.

There was that word again. After what had happened with her last unfortunate encounter, Jaye doubted she'd be able to hear the word without getting a severe case of the willies.

"Aha...ha. Thank you. I'm sure I look much better."

"You certainly do, my darling. Now just be still while I do the rest."

He resumed his work, wiping down her arms, and neck. When it came to the wound on her collarbone, Eddie traced it and frowned.

She couldn't tell if his anger came from the fact that she'd been hurt, or the fact that he hadn't been the one to hurt her. Judging by how things had worked out so far on this little adventure, Jaye would lean more towards the latter. She braced herself for the inevitable painful scraping, and Eddie didn't disappoint. It was almost unbearably painful, and she couldn't fight the occasional hiss or shuddering cry.

"Hush now, darling. I know this must hurt, but surely you can endure something so small."

_'Easy for you to say,'_ thought Jaye. She bit down on her tongue to stifle her cries until she tasted blood.

When at last he finished, he allowed her to move to the sink. There was a small, cracked, dirty mirror there, and for the first time since entering that place, Jaye was able to look at herself. Indeed, it took a moment for her to recognize that the girl in the glass was in fact her.

Her face was scrubbed pink from Eddie's "gentle" care, but underneath that she was as pale as a ghost. She couldn't remember a time, even when she was sick, that she'd been so washed-out and bloodless. No wonder she kept being compared to porcelain. The material just might have more color than she did at that moment.

The blood was gone from her face, but there were still traces of it in her hairline from where her previous captor's nails had scratched deep. The bridge of her nose was swollen and red, the old scar bearing a new visible split just above the silvery tissue. Her forehead bore several little nicks and scratches, her lip had been split, and her eyes looked sunken from lack of proper rest. Her hair was a total mess, frizzy curls sticking up in every direction and varying in length in places. The dried blood on her scalp itched like crazy, and Jaye finally gave in and scratched.

She looked like hell, alright. Not that she'd been expecting any less.

"You see, my dear? Good as new." Eddie was saying.

Jaye couldn't disagree more, but she supposed it could be worse.

_'Well, I won't be winning any beauty contests, but I'm alive.'_

She allowed herself a tiny smile, the quirk of her lips small but genuine.

"Now that I've tended to your wounds, they won't be so bothersome during your bath."

Wait. What?

"Um, my bath? But you're already cleaned me up. You said it yourself 'good as new.'"

"Now, my sweet, I'm only trying to help. There's still some filth to wash away. We can't have you dressed for our wedding like _that_. You were the one who insisted, remember?"

"Yeah, but I...that is, don't' you think I'm clean enough? I'll just be careful and I promise I won't—"

"No."

The word was firm, terse, and final. There was no arguing with his tone, not if she wanted him to stay calm. He'd already slammed his hands down in anger or for emphasis, and the motion disturbed the pile of dresses beside him. One of them fell off completely and landed on the disgusting floor. Eddie glared at the offending object, then at Jaye. He snatched up the article and then moved behind her. His hands braced on either side of the sink, caging her in.

"Do you see what you made me do?" his voice was low, hinting that the next step would be screaming anger. Again. "This is _your _fault. You've gone and sullied your dress. Now, be a good girl, and come with me, before I run out of patience."

Startled by his close proximity, Jaye held her breath, heart hammering in her throat. Eddie slid his fingers over the skin of her neck, and she easily recognized the threat that it was.

"You're making it difficult for me to forgive you," he informed her.

But what had she done that was so damned awful? Spoken out of turn? Jaye was starting to see that there was really no winning here. She'd tried to say words that she believed he'd want to hear, and when that hadn't worked the way she wanted, silence had been the next resort. But Eddie didn't seem to wholly approve of silence, either, not when he wanted her to answer his queries.

So really, all anyone could do was follow his lead like a dog. Maybe a dog would have a better chance of survival than she would.

He wanted her to take a bath? Fine, she'd take a bath. If he wanted to scrub her with a wire brush and shave her head bald, she'd let him. As long as he would let her live, she'd endure his strange delusions, do whatever he asked of her. Well, within limits...

'I'm sorry," she whispered. She wasn't sure if she was apologizing to Eddie to placate him, or to herself for the indignity she was certain she was about to endure. "So...bath time?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey there! I just wanted to pop in and say thank you to all of you who've read/favorited/reviewed this silly story of mine! I really appreciate it. Also I just wanted to let everyone know that I have a tumblr where I post bonus content relating to the story like little doodles and asks and the like. If you ever want to talk to me about the story (or about anything, really), feel free to pop in and leave me a message! My tumblr is what-ritz-crafts**

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Chapter SEVEN

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There were no shower or tub facilities that Jaye could recall seeing. To be fair, she wasn't exactly concerned with her next shampoo when she was running for her life. At any rate, there was definitely no tub in the room she was currently in. She wondered where exactly Eddie intended for that to happen. If he was going to take her somewhere else, she could use the opportunity to scout out an escape route—particularly if they were going outside. She still hadn't given up on the idea, and she doubted she would. The question remained though, how plausible was it?

She didn't fight him when he led her from the room, the giant bundle of dresses and the towel held under one arm. They passed back through familiar halls and windows that showed traces of daylight. Just how long had she been trapped here?

Hours? Days?

It was impossible to say. There had been that span when the dollmaker had her unconscious, and that was when she'd lost time.

It was a shame she didn't have a fancy watch like Simon did. If she had that, she'd know the date, time, temperature phase of the moon, and which cardinal direction she was facing. She'd told him when he bought it that it was ridiculous and unnecessary, but now she was envious.

But she didn't have one. She was running blind, deaf, and clueless. Her survival hinged on the mental state of the man clutching her wrist, and though he hadn't actually hurt her yet, she was terrified of what me might do.

Eddie sang to himself while he walked. It was something that sounded vaguely familiar, a song she'd heard in passing, but she couldn't place it. It was slightly off-key and dissonantly cheerful, and its lyrics gave Jaye a little more insight as to Eddie's behavior. At least, she liked to think so. His strange choice of attire, the things he'd said to her…hell, even the hairstyle was oddly reminiscent of things mentioned in the song; old-fashioned ideals and a time when women were expected to be flawless, well-mannered Stepford wives. Was that what he expected her to do? Bake rancid muffins in the cafeteria while he was off to a hard day of murder? Kiss him on his blood-spattered cheek and massage his feet while he regaled her with tales of how he'd performed one particularly difficult disembowelment?

_'No thanks.'_

They began to cross through unfamiliar rooms, territory that became more and more disturbing. Blood here, and there, and everywhere, sullied dress forms with gore-splashed garments, tools, blades, a bloodied table with a built-in circular saw. The more Jaye witnessed, the more she began to understand the real danger. Eddie had killed, alright. There were still no bodies, which was odd, but the amount of blood and gore and the occasional severed part said that there had definitely been victims. And whatever he'd done to them had made them hemorrhage a gratuitous amount. It didn't take a keen imagination to know what a circular saw in a bloodied table was for.

Jaye shuddered as real terror crept its way into her veins. She'd feared him before, that was a given. She was afraid of every living being in the building whose name was not Miles or Simon. Being afraid meant being cautious, and therefore being alive. But this was a different sort of fear. This was the feeling of being lowered bleeding into a shark tank, the only thing separating her from death being a flimsy steel cage. It was the feeling of knowing that cage wouldn't hold, and it was only a matter of time until the sharks broke through to devour her alive.

Her shaking did not go unnoticed. Eddie paused, following her her gaze to the saw table as they passed by.

"Don't you worry your little head. That's not for you. That was for others, those who needed a little…_fixing._"

_Fixing?_ Jaye had no clue what he meant, and didn't want to. But he didn't seem the slightest bit interested in strapping her to the table, instead pulling her past if as though it were a booth at a carnival.

"The others, they were _lacking_ in what makes a woman. I tried to help them, give them what they needed. But unfortunately, none of them were able to accept my help, my love. But you…my dear, sweet, darling—with you, I can focus more on our ceremony instead of the preparations."

Either that was all some obscure metaphor, or he'd just bluntly stated that he liked to perform amateur surgeries on those who didn't meet his standards. Swallowing the massive lump in her throat, Jaye tore her eyes away from the equipment, glad that she had escaped that fate, at least.

But a few minutes later, after passing through another few rooms, Jaye bore witness to a sight that made her think the table saw might have actually been a kinder end.

It was a gymnasium. The old, hardwood court had probably been built for the inmates to have recreation time when the weather was particularly nasty. But that wasn't its use anymore. That hadn't been its use in a long, long time.

It was instead a trophy room. The worst imaginable kind of trophy room. The most obvious sign of this was the presence of a _massive_ pool of blood beneath her feet. It was the collective flow from a mass of severed heads, limbs…and bodies hanging from above.

There were dozens of them, all in various states of undress. Some of them were missing limbs, probably having severed them themselves while struggling against the ropes. A large area of the ceiling was occupied by the corpses, all of them grouped closely together like a life-sized puppeteer's box. The victims were predominantly male (in fact, she didn't see even one female), and every single body was mutilated in some way. Jaye couldn't look at it for long,couldn't bear to watch the blood dripping from the freshest corpses. A sour taste invaded her mouth, and she leaned over to vomit. Only dry heaves came out, and leaning down presented her with another grisly sight. One of the bodies had completely fallen from the rafters and landed, legs sprawled, a few feet in front of them. She could see cut lines on the dead flesh; circular cuts where crude breasts had been sewn onto a man's body, and a horrible,gaping nether wound. He'd been cut all the way to the hip, the mangled remnants of his genitals nipped and tucked and sewn to resemble a vagina. Blood completely covered the legs and groin, and Jaye hoped he'd been lucky enough to die of the pain and shock _before_ he was strung up.

And the gears finally slid into place.

These were Eddie's others, the filthy "whores" who'd either failed to meet his standards or insulted him in some other way.

"Ah, it really is a shame. All I ever did for them was try to make them beautiful. But none of them were worthy. Every single one of them was unfit to be my wife, to bear my children."

He circled behind her and laid his hands on her hips, tracing the curve up to her waist.

"But you're not like them, are you my darling?"

"N-no, I swear. I'm not. Please…"

"I hope you aren't," Eddie continued. "But if you are, if you try to leave me like the rest of these ungrateful sluts, you'll hang with the lot of them."

Then she was going to make sure she was way ahead of him before he could even notice she'd gone. She licked her dry lips and nodded, happy when he led her out and away from the horrible imagery.

It took quite a lot of walking, including a trip outside, but finally Eddie slowed down when they reached one of the patient wards. Jaye wasn't sure which, as a thick haze had rolled into the drying ground and its surrounding areas. The haze made it impossible to tell where they were, or if there were any viable escape routes. She did her best to remember what turns she and Eddie took to get to their stopping point though, just in case she could break away. At the very least, she could get back outside.

Eddie kept a tight grip oh her wrist the entire time, and he only loosened it when he opened the door to a room with bathtubs lining the walls. Most of them were cracked and filthy, a few coated liberally in liquid hemoglobin. He led her to one that looked slightly cleaner than the others and finally let go of her. Jaye didn't even twitch. Eddie turned on both taps before draping the dresses over the side of another nearby tub and searching the room for some sort of soap. Jaye leaned against the edge of the tub, but otherwise did not move, watching Eddie's short, fumbling movements about he room.

"Is…something wrong?" she spoke.

Eddie seemed agitated, impatient about something and Jaye had no clue why. Eddie's gaze snapped in her direction and he frowned slightly before his face lit up in a grin.

Had he expected her to try to run?

Had he _wanted_ her to so he'd finally have an excuse to kill her?

"Not at all, darling. I suppose you could say I'm just a bit nervous. Just a case of pre-wedding jitters. It was not my intention to worry you."

He returned and turned off the taps once the water was deep enough, and produced a sliver of mostly used, cracked, filthy soap from his palm.

"Now then, go ahead and get in before the water gets cold."

What, in front of him? Just strip down like she was with a real lover? Her legs and stomach clenched, her tongue turning into sawdust. She had hoped to maybe keep her clothes on, hastily scrub,and be done with it. If she did this, she might as well be jumping right into a shark's open mouth.

"Come now, dear, don't be shy. I'll keep my eyes closed, I promise. You don't want to delay our ceremony, do you?"

That sentence was all the motivation Jaye needed to reach out and take the soap from his palm. It sounded like a threat, now that she'd seen what he'd done to others. As she drew her hand away with the sliver clasped in her hand, Eddie curled his fingers up over hers, his fingertips caressing the skin of her knuckles.

"Everything will be perfect, you just wait and see," he said and then, to her shock, made good on his word and closed his eyes.

Jaye wouldn't be going anywhere though, even if Eddie having his eyes shut was the perfect opportunity. He was sitting between her and the door, and getting past him would mean literally vaulting over him, which wasn't going to happen. Hell, in her entire encounter with him so far, he hadn't given her any space except during the brief stint when he'd gone to get the dresses. And he was almost always touching her in some way. There was no "slipping away."

She'd have to wait until he fell asleep. He had to at some point, right? Regardless of what he did, how strong he was, or how well he knew the place, he was still a living human who needed sleep. Until then, she'd bide her time and do what he told her to do.

Jaye undid the laces of her boots first and stepped out of the heavy leather footwear. The socks followed, shoved into the boots for later use. She would have reveled in the sensation of being barefoot if the floor wasn't sticky and disgusting. At home, she would have loved the feeling of sinking her bare feet into the plush living room carpet after hours in confining shoes. But here, being barefoot only made her feel vulnerable. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

She shimmied out of her torn, filthy jeans and left them in a discarded heap next to her boots. The ruined tank top soon followed, leaving her in just a bra and underwear. They were built for practicality, nothing but plain white cotton, but she felt like taking them off in front of Eddie was akin to stripping in front of a demon. Whether he was looking or not.

_'Just do it,' _she urged herself. _'Quick like a band aid.' _

And so she shed herself of her last barrier between security and total surrender, keeping an eye on Eddie all the while. Quickly, she clamored into the the water without checking the temperature. It was lukewarm at best, feeling thick and tepid like hot tea left to sit too long. But it felt surprisingly good against her skin. She could pretend for just a moment that she was at home and not trapped with a guy who took "marry, fuck, kill" a bit too literally.

Jaye sighed and relaxed into he tub. Might as well make the most of it, right? But then, she couldn't really relax when Eddie was in a rush to get "married." Taking too long might make him angry and cause him to snap. Had any of his other brides gotten this far, she wondered?

Jaye worked the pathetic astringent-smelling soap into a lather and started to scrub it into her hair. She longed to really work it in, to rid herself of any traces of the trauma that had happened. But she remembered that she didn't really have anything to comb it out with, so she eased up. It wasn't the highest quality soap by any means,but it was something. She wriggled down further into the tub and twisted so that she could rinse if off. When she came back up, she was met by a staring Eddie. With a startled yelp, she scooted back in the tub, resulting in a wave of sullied water sloshing over the side. She hastily covered all that she could as her mouth gaped open. He was close to the edge, close enough to touch her if he just reached out a hand. That made Jaye scoot back even further.

"You…you said you'd keep your eyes closed," she said.

"I'm sorry, my darling. You just looked so peaceful, so content. I simply had to get a closer look."

"Well I'm finished. So I should get dressed for the ceremony now, don't you think?"

It came out far cheekier than she'd intended, and probably would have angered him if he wasn't so fixated on staring at her. The glint in his eyes was nothing short of predatory, but he never once looked at her face. He was focused on _other_ parts,and the sensation of being a horse up for auction occurred to her.

"You have excellent bone structure," he said. "Strong and balanced. Perfect for carrying our children."

She didn't really know how to reply to that. That he was still fixated on his idea of creating a family with her made her nauseous. She would do many things to survive so she could find and help Simon, but she didn't think she could go that far. She could hardly stand him touching her, even the so-far innocent enough touches. Eddie had probably thought them affectionate, but every instance had made her skin craw like there were tiny parasites burrowing into her pores.

Plastering on a half-assed and painful grin, Jaye cleared her throat and successfully drew his attention away from her body.

"Since we're going to be married," Jaye nearly choked on the word. "Shouldn't we get to know each other a little bit?"

It was hastily spoken, and she really _didn't_ want to know, but it worked to take his mind off of his intentions with her. She knew that he didn't see her as a person, not any more than he'd seen the mutilated men as people. If he had, they wouldn't have been hanging there at all. Hell, to him, everyone he met was probably just a blank-faced mannequin, cookie-cutter wife-shaped masses whose only purpose was to bend to his will. She was just a means to an end, a vehicle for his fantasies.

"You're quite right. We should get to know each other. Oh, but what to tell?"

"I…I don't know, tell me what you like to do in your free time. What kind of food do you like? What was it like um…" Jaye had been about to say 'before everything went to shit,' but thought better of it. Too much sarcasm had already crept into her sentences. Any sarcasm in Eddie's presence was too much, really. What she said instead was;

"What was it like growing up?"

Her last question seemed to have triggered something. She saw the briefest flash of an unreadable emotion on Eddie's face. Something raw and brutal, something that made his features contort into what Jaye could only describe as pain. But then it was gone, pushed down and smoothed over like caked theater makeup.

"There's not much to tell, I"m afraid. My childhood was fairly typical. I was an only child, so it was just me and my mother and _dear old dad_. My uncle visited often, though. Ah, he always had such interesting stories to tell. We were all very _close._"

His words were chipper enough, but Jaye heard the way he'd all but spat some of them. The words sounded like poison, and were spoken with great clarity, free of the slur from his lisp.

"But let's not talk about me,. I'm much more interested in you, darling."

"Me?"

Jaye could technically tell him whatever she wanted to, and he'd be none the wiser.

She wondered if this was some sort of test. If she revealed something he didn't want to hear, would he string her up too? A thousand stories whirled around in her mind, and she grasped blindly at the one that would satisfy his expectations the best. Should she be the little girl who attended ballet practice and her brother's baseball games? The girl who'd ridden her father's shoulders so she could get a better view at the zoo? Or maybe she could be the girl whose mother helped her dress for her first date, doing her hair and teaching her the fundamentals of makeup.

While those had been dreams of hers at some point, none of them had ever been a reality. Those days had been the loneliest hours of her life. If she hadn't had Simon, she probably would have been far worse-off. She had spent so many days hoping and wishing and performing the kind of made up magic spells that every child with a foolish dream performed. When none of the magic had worked, she'd focused instead on making sure that her twin was happy. Because having one whole person was better than having two who were broken. To lie about that, even to Eddie who would never know if she was being truthful, felt wrong.

So she didn't lie.

"My childhood was definitely not typical or happy," she told him. "Both of my parents walked out of my life because they didn't want me or my brother. It's been just us for years, wondering what we did that was so terrible for them to just…leave. If I ever have children, I'm not going to do that. Not like those trashy people who called themselves my parents."

Although she wasn't saying any of it to form a legitimate bond, it almost felt _good_ to vent to Eddie. She'd always held it in, and their grandparents had told Simon and Jaye that those sorts of things happened all the time. So neither sibling had ever gone to counseling or therapy and had come to view the whole ordeal as just another part of growing up. It was liberating to let it out for once. Hey, if she was doomed here, might as well, right?

But more than that, telling the truth made Jaye feel far superior to Eddie. Indeed, it made her feel far superior to everyone in the asylum. Because it meant that she still had reality firmly within her grasp, and was in less danger of losing sight of what needed to be done.

_'Whatever it takes. No matter what I have to do. No matter what happens to me here. I've got to live.' _

"I hope they're dead," Jaye choked. "Or if not, I hope they think of my brother and I every day and feel as alone as we did."

"Then stay with me, darling. I won't let you feel that emptiness ever again."

Eddie had stayed surprisingly silent the whole time she'd spoken. Probably just to humor her, or maybe to lure her into a false sense of security. She'd definitely bet on the latter.

"I won't ever leave you, and I won't let anything happen to our children. Not like…" Eddie cut himself off, but already Jaye's mind was whirring.

The first part of his promise was uncannily similar to her own promise to Simon. _'I will never leave you alone.' _She'd made the same promise to Miles, when they'd come together in agreement that they would make it out of here together.

The rest of his sentence told her that something had happened to him in his youth, something that had dramatically changed him and the way he thought of people. Whatever it was had made him carry out the acts that had gotten him committed. Based on the way he'd spoken, and the subtle hints he'd given, Jaye was fairly certain that whatever that _something_ was had been done to him by people he was supposed to be able to trust. Was that why he was so bent on making a family? To break the cycle? Jaye _really_ didn't see that happening.

Whatever had happened to him was not his fault, but the fact remained that he had a whole gymnasium full of dripping dead bodies that he would eagerly add her to if she put a toe out of line. That sobered her up real quick.

"Come now, darling. It's almost time. You have to get dressed for the ceremony."

He presented her with the towel and Jaye rose from the tub. She had just wrapped herself in the nasty cloth, and Eddie had held out a "gentlemanly" hand to help her from the tub, when an obnoxiously loud crashing noise sounded form outside of the room. Loud footsteps and heavy breathing, the rattling of chains…Jaye was getting a serious case of deja vu.

If that noise had been caused by what she thought it was, they were in a deadly situation.

The bathroom had gone dead silent. Jaye hardly dared to breathe, and the look on Eddie's face was a sort of enraged terror. If _he_ looked scared of what had made the noise, Jaye knew it had to be something powerful. So far, if they were talking brute strength, the strongest variant she'd met so far was…

"I know you're here. I'll find you. I'll find all of you little piglets."

The garbled, growly voice was familiar, alright. Jaye felt some deep, virulent, crushing terror lay upon her shoulders at remembering what he man was capable of. Now, more than ever, she wished she was free to run. There was only one door to the bathroom, and no windows. Only one way out. She was trapped entirely, unless by some miracle something else came along to distract the meaty monster outside.

Eddie quickly moved from her side, away from the tub and towards the door. What was he doing? The second he opened that door, the end would be only a moment later. Did he _want_ to die? He was just standing there listening, waiting for some kind of sign. The rattling and stomping were gone, and even the air seemed to go still. But it felt too good to be true.

And it was.

Jaye could only gape like a fish when the door splintered into pieces seconds later and the huge, powerful arms yanked Eddie through the opening like a ragdoll. Jaye saw the flash of a knife as Eddie unsheathed his bloodied blade to defend himself. There was a lot of grunting and shouting and things breaking in their wake as the asylum's predators did battle.

Jaye felt one loud bark of laughter escape from her mouth. Now, she could go. Now, she was free. She almost felt grateful for the monstrous interloper.

She slid from the tub and yanked her socks and boots back onto her feet, scrambling with the laces. She bypassed the ruined clothes on the floor and grabbed the dress that sat atop Eddie's pile. Slipping it over her head, Jaye did not waste time in doing up the zipper before she was out the door, into the hallway and running. She'd give every last ounce of her strength to get away from here. She didn't look back at Eddie and Chris fighting, but she could feel them near her, could feel the dust flying from their impact with the dirty walls. She wanted to be gone before either of them noticed, but fate was never so kind and generous. She was still slow, so when she rounded the corner to begin tearing down the hall towards the exit, Eddie saw her.

"Darling! Wait! Don't! Don't leave me here!"

He was being held aloft by Chris, a single massive arm lifting him high over his head. Eddie reached out for her with one hand, fingers spread wide, perhaps in the hopes that she'd help him. The sight was surreal. It was absolutely jarring to see a man so strong and terrifying be handled as though he was a ragdooll. But Jaye only looked at him for a second, long enough to see the betrayed expression on his face. Then she was gone, tripping over her own two feet in her mad rush.

The dress was a little on the small side, squeezing in places and definitely shorter than it would be on a more petite girl. But it did not hinder her. In fact, the shorter hem was advantageous since there was no train to trip over.

Her legs ached, her lungs burned, and her pulse roared in her ears,drowning out the punches and shouting and running behind her.

_'Almost there,' _Jaye could see the exit, the rain pouring down in the dark, unknown space that meant her salivation. It was so, so close. _Just. Keep. Running. _

But something slammed into her,knocking her down mid-stride.

"Up, up, up! Get up!" she screamed to herself, struggling to climb to her feet.

But then a dark shape was rising in front of her, a tall mass that blocked the exit. Frantic, Jay whirled around looking for a new path. An arm wrapped around her middle and lifted her high, her body draped over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Helplessly, her arms hung free and Jaye watched the face of the monstrous tank-man vanish into the dark as Eddie ran.

Further and further, over wet, soggy ground and through cold rain, his strides covered a lot of ground, and quickly. Away from the bathrooms and Chris Walker, away form the confined hallways…

Away from freedom.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning: This chapter contains a scene of graphic sexual content. If this kind of thing squicks you out, I recommend reading the clean version on my tumblr page. Again, my tumblr page is what-ritz-crafts. **

Chapter **EIGHT**

Jaye flailed and screamed and kicked as Eddie carried her back through the vocational block. She'd been so close! The exit had been _right_ there! Livid, she scratched at Eddie's skin, kicked at his chest, twisted and writhed like an agitated python. He couldn't have her again! Not now, not after everything she'd done! The complete exposure of herself and subjecting herself to his touch and scrutiny...it _couldn't_ be all for nothing. If he got her back to that room, the horrible gymnasium, it was all all over. After going through so much already, she refused to die in his clutches. And so she fought. Eddie might be strong, but he'd just been in one hell of a fight himself, so her kicking and scratching and squirming did slightly loosen his hold on her. He switched to carrying her with two hands.

"Hold still darling!" Eddie growled at her, struggling to shift her weight so she'd be easier to carry. He was just as winded and livid as she was, his voice completely lacking a lisp in his anger.

"Go to hell!" Jaye screamed, landing a particularly hard kick to his chest. A whoosh of air escaped him, but he didn't let go. Jaye twisted and angled her head so that her face was near his, and sank her teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

That did it. Eddie dropped her from shock alone, and Jaye hit the ground hard. The air rushed out of her lungs when she landed on her stomach, but she still tried to get away. She crawled on all fours across the filthy floor, her screaming, battered, bruised limbs doing double duty to try to claw her to safety. But Eddie recovered quickly. He seized Jaye's legs and pulled her back across the floor even as her fingers scratched trails in the filth. Jaye felt the dress flip up over her head as he lifted her feet-first. She grasped at the skirt to pull it back up, slightly baffled with herself for worrying about modesty at a time like this. She hadn't had time to put her bra or underwear back on, so every bit of her body was exposed to him.

But Eddie didn't even notice it. Gravity righted itself and her clothing shifted back into place as Eddie flipped her back over and slammed her into the wall.

"You thought you could play that game with me, you whore? You thought you could _leave_ me? You can't leave! I can't be alone!"

He shook her hard, one hand around her throat, then tossed her to the ground and grabbed her by the hair. Jaye wheezed for breath, tears blurring her vision.

"I try, and I try, but it's never enough. I had thought we could be happy, that I could trust you. And what did you do with my trust? You ran. Just...like everyone else."

"No! I-I wasn't! I was running from _him_, not from you! I—"

"Don't _lie_ to me, you filthy slut," Eddie yanked hard on her hair, nearly re-opening her old scratches. "We could have had something beautiful. We could have made a life together. I wouldn't have been like _them_. Never to our children. The things they did to me, when I was small, when I didn't know...but no. it's too late now. No more waiting. You'll hang, just like the rest."

"No, no, no! I wasn't trying to leave you I swear! We were so close, we were going to be married! It's not too late! Everything can be perfect this time, I promise! Please, Eddie! Please just let me—"

"No more," Eddie roared, his breath rushing over her face. "I gave you a chance, and you squandered it."

He'd withdrawn the knife, its blade already coated liberally in blood. Had he injured his opponent back there? He pressed the blade to her throat, the tip of it digging just slightly into the flesh beneath her ear. Jaye was screaming then, crying and pleading and unable to see through the blur of her tears.

"No! I can change! I can be better. I don't know how to be a good wife. But you could teach me! You could! But if you kill me, you'll be...all alone again. I know what it's like to be alone! It's terrible, empty...it's the worst feeling in the world, isn't it?"

Somehow, her words had gotten Eddie to pause. He fixed her with that hard, cold gaze,and the knife was still ready to tear a new smile into her flesh, but he had paused. He said nothing, waiting for the next bullshit excuse to fall from her mouth.

"I never knew," Jaye continued, voice desperate and high-pitched. "I never knew what it was like to be a mother or a wife. My mom left me so I never got to learn. And I want to be with you. I _do_! Just...please, please give me one more chance. I promise I'll never, ever leave you. I've never broken a promise in my entire life. We can be together. We can..."

The words were tumbling out of her mouth a mile a minute. Her breathing was ragged and she was close to throwing up. She was only saying what Eddie wanted to hear, false promises to a false lover. But she would say or do anything at this point if it meant living a little longer.

And Eddie looked desperate too, perhaps truly hoping that he'd not have to hang his bride this time.

"We're almost there," Jaye said. "Just a little more, and we can make it..."

Those seemed to be the magic words, because Eddie finally moved the knife away form her skin.

"You don't know," he parroted. "No, you don't know anything!"

The feral anger was still in his voice. Jaye flinched from the tone and his vice-like grip on her head. Eddie leaned close to her, his cracked lips right next to her ear. He traced the curve of her throat with the knife one last time.

"But you're right. I _can_ teach you how to be a good wife. It will be my duty as your husband to teach you. I should have known that all along. You didn't know any better. Yes, it's all my fault."

He stood up straight, taking her with him, and Jaye found her body crushed awkwardly to his as he held her close.

"And look at you," Eddie said, running his hands over the fabric that had ridden up her legs. "Already dressed for our wedding. How could I possibly stay angry, when you're so eager? I've decided...to forgive you, darling."

Jaye almost wished she was in the clutches of those twins instead. At least they'd been honest and straightforward about their intentions. Eddie kept switching gears so much that it was impossible to say what he really wanted. All Jaye could do was placate him, really calm him down, and try to find a way out. There was a set of double doors behind Eddie, glass windows sitting at the top of each one. Beyond, she could make out one of the rooms that connected to a hallway that led out of the place.

_'Perfect.'_

"I'm so glad," Jaye said, feigning happiness at Eddie's forgiveness. "I thought I'd done something irredeemable. You're so good to me, Eddie. So...kind. You're going to be a wonderful husband."

It sounded like complete bullshit to her ears. She doubted he would buy it, but he was more concerned with playing with the short curls of her hair. The touch was so careful, so doting and a complete contrast to his previous behavior that for a moment, Jaye almost forgot his brutality. Almost.

"Yes darling. We'll be perfect together. We can still fix this. However..."

Eddie's hands suddenly jerked her head upwards, forcing her to look at him. Gone was the loving, gentle Eddie, replaced by his angry, murderous counterpart. She couldn't say that she was all that surprised. But still, Jaye swallowed a lump of fear.

"I think, as your husband, that it's my duty to correct your behavior so far. Now, don't worry. I won't let it hurt for long."

"What? Correct me? But I didn't—"

"Hush now. It'll be over quickly, I won't be too harsh. Just think of it as a lesson for the future. Something to think about the next time you feel like being disobedient. The next time you feel like _leaving_ me."

Before Jaye could get in another word edge-wise, he'd shoved her down onto her knees, one hand still gripping her by the hair. Was he going to break her neck?

Jaye braced her hands on his thighs, trying to pushing away from him. But Eddie's hand on his belt made her freeze, her blood going solid in her veins as he fiddled with the buckle.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered.

"I"m so sorry darling. I wish I didn't have to do this, but you leave me no choice."

"No, no. Wait! We can think up some other punishment! I don't want this!"

Jaye closed her eyes, hands still pressing herself away from him. She braced for the sting of his belt. Somehow, the idea of being hit was on equal footing with being strung up. A funny thought, given that she'd endured having a chunk of her flesh carved out.

But beatings like that were reserved for naughty, petulant children. Because her father had left them, had always planned to leave them, neither Jaye nor Simon had ever been struck by their parents. A small blessing, but one they were grateful for. A punishment of this sort was one Jaye had only ever imagined and feared, because it was so unknown to her. This kind of thing only happened on a truly personal level, when some grave offense had been committed. Strangers generally didn't belt each other.

That meant that, whatever view of Jaye that Eddie had held before had changed. She was still a mannequin, but now she was a mannequin with a face. He now held some kind of attachment to her. She had become involved somehow, and Eddie had revealed small, tentative snatches of personal information.

They'd become _personal_. Her own personal hell. His own personal bride.

The closer to personal they got, the worse Jaye felt about lying and manipulating. She wished she didn't, because Eddie certainly had no morals, but the fact remained that she did.

But whatever imagined ties he had with her could be broken. They _would_ be broken, as soon as his back was turned and she could reach that door.

She was so close to really escaping, she could taste it. She could endure this. She could endure anything. It would be over quickly. So Jaye sat perfectly still, her hands clenched in her lap and her eyes tightly shut. She waited for the sting of the belt across her shoulders and the back of her neck.

But such a sting never came. Eddie's hands had paused in the process of pulling his belt off. His breathing had become strangely uneven and ragged, and his hold on her hair had once more slackened. Was he changing gears again? Jaye reached up for his hand on her head and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. His grip tightened by the slightest degree. She could hear him swallow hard.

Jaye opened her eyes, feeling strangely calm, and raised her head to lock gazes with him. He looked legitimately torn about what he was doing, and that only confused Jaye.

"Just get it done," she whispered. "It's okay. We both know it has to happen."

"I wish it hadn't come to this," Eddie gulped and shifted his weight. "I wish you had just listened to me. If you had, I wouldn't have to do such a vile thing. Just like _they_ did to me."

She guessed he was talking about his parents beating him. Probably his father. Fathers were always the ones to punish children the most. God knew hers had, just by the act of walking away.

"It's okay, Eddie. Just...just do it."

And so Jaye closed her eyes again, feeling a sense of darkness flow into the room as Eddie fought unseen foes in his head. They sat still for a good while, until the anticipation of getting hit was more stressful than actually getting hit. She was actually starting to pray for the belt to fall when Eddie finally moved again.

She heard the rustle of fabric, his rough fingers gliding over the stiff material of his trousers. But then she heard a zipper unzip, heard Eddie's breathing quicken, felt his hand go under her chin and the pieces of one extremely ugly puzzle began to slide together.

Jaye opened her eyes and gasped. What she had feared was exactly what she was seeing. She could see the bulge in his crotch, even in the dark. And he was looking down at her with the eyes of a predator, looking at her like she was a piece of meat.

Oh _god_.

There was no way she could stomach what he wanted her to do, and yet...If she didn't? He'd kill her then and there. She could see it in his crazed, bloodshot, lust-dilated eyes. Hadn't she already decided to do what she had to in order to survive? This crossed the line she'd wished to avoid, but she had no other choice. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to do it. The thought alone made her shudder. But if it was between this and horrible, gory death, Jaye would have to settle for this.

"This is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you," Eddie said, fumbling with the waistband of his trousers. His hands and voice trembled, and the hand on his waistband stilled. Jaye thought maybe he was overly excited at first, but the little indications he gave suggested otherwise. Was he...actually nervous?

Jaye found it hard to believe someone as aggressive, volatile,and manipulative was nervous.

But his tiny mentions of his past—not the candy-coated lies, but the truth—they spoke of something much worse.

'This is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you.' That was something a parent said to justify an overly harsh punishment for their child. Someone had been overly harsh with him, had punished him badly. They'd probably even used those exact words.

Eddie wasn't nervous. He wasn't excited, either. He was _afraid_.

Not of hurting her, oh no. He couldn't care less about that, no matter how many times he said otherwise. He truly believed that it was going to hurt him more.

And if it did somehow hurt him, he'd take it out on her. It was extremely risky to do what he wanted her to do. She had to dissuade him somehow.

"Eddie, we...shouldn't we wait? We aren't married yet, we should wait until then. It's not right."

"It's not the same," he informed her. "This isn't the same as consummating our love. This is a punishment. Please, darling, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

This _couldn't_ be happening.

She let her vision go to a haze, her eyelids drooping and veiling his presence in front of her. When she opened her eyes, she'd be far away, safe, with her dog and her shitty books, and there wouldn't be a murderous psychopath in front of her with his fingers threaded in her hair. There was no blood or terror, or hanging bodies, or pain or darkness. None of it, none of _this_ was real.

But it _was_ real. She opened her eyes and he was there jut inches form her face and it was real. She chewed her lower lip, fingernails biting into her palms. His hand was too tight in her hair, his presence too close, his body blocking the door she needed.

There was no other way.

_'You were willing to do whatever it took to get out of here alive,'_ she reminded herself. _'You've __**killed**__ a man. How is this worse?'_

This was only a tiny hurdle, a tack in the boot. A necessary evil. All things considered, it could be much, much worse. It wasn't sex. Sex would be personal, and she was going to escape before the wedding night. This was, just like everything else Eddie had done, just another part of his fucked-up plan, another stepping stone to acquiring his perfect little fantasy.

A punishment, he'd said. Well, she could deal with a little punishment. After all, her time at the asylum had been nothing but.

The fear had gone cold at this point. Jaye glanced up at Eddie, waiting for him to make his move. She liked to think she looked strong in that moment, decisive and accepting, but she knew she was trembling.

"That's it, darling. Just bear with it. It will all be over soon."

Lips quivering, Jaye slowly complied and opened her mouth. She wouldn't look, fearing that watching the process would break her resolve. So she focused her eyes elsewhere, on the buttons of his vest. She heard the rustle of fabric and felt he lightest brush of warmth on her lower lip, Eddie's cock poised over her mouth. But Eddie did not move any further.

_'Good god, just get it over with.'_

Why had he stopped?

She stayed like that, hands immobile in her lap waiting for him to move. A drop of saliva trickled out of her mouth, slowly trailing down her chin, but still he did not move. Dammit, why couldn't he just make up his mind? Jaye reached up and gripped his trousers by the waistband, pulling them down to allow better access. Her other hand carefully wrapped around his cock.

What she felt surprised her. Perhaps because of how rough his fingers were, and how messed-up his face was, and the patchwork clothing and the blood, she'd expected something horrifying, something cold and unnatural perhaps.

But Eddie's body was just like anyone else's, no matter how many people he'd killed or how crazed he'd become. His skin was soft and warm. Warmer than most, actually. His heat was almost feverish, and Jaye could feel his pulse beating frantically beneath his skin. She risked a glance at his exposed stomach and thighs. Powerfully muscled, it was no wonder at all that he'd been able to cover so much ground so quickly. There weren't any rashes or mutilations on his body. It was all sinew and skin and taut muscles that twitched as Eddie took shallow, ragged breaths.

Jaye felt like she'd been sucker-punched in the gut. For his body to be normal almost seemed surreal. And her own body did not seem to care about the situation. She felt a powerful, unwelcome jolt of heat pool between her thighs and she sucked in a sharp breath. Eddie was still immobile above her, so she figured he wanted her to do it herself. Tentatively, Jaye licked her lower lip. He was so close that her tongue just barely skimmed the tip of his cock.

Eddie jerked back, yanking her hair painfully and pulling her hands away form him.

"No!" he roared. "Don't you touch me, you filthy slut! This isn't for you! This is a punishment. A lesson to be learned. _You_ don't get to touch _me_."

He shoved her back until her back hit the very doors she'd been looking out. Her knees reunited with the floor with a painful impact. Her lips parted in a gasp, hands bracing against her fall, and then she tasted his skin as he pushed himself into her mouth.

Jaye froze completely, an odd combination of shock and invasive arousal injected into her veins. She didn't dare bite him, though it had been her first instinct. Above her, Eddie released a low, drawn-out, agonized moan and stilled. Had he...really expected it to hurt? Just what had been done to him to instill that belief?

Jaye took long, even breaths through her nose in an attempt to calm herself. Panicking would only make the situation worse. She needed to calm down so she wouldn't choke or cry and make him angry. Once her heart rate was calm, she swallowed around him, an attempt to make it easier to breathe. The action drew another groan from Eddie, and his free hand stroked her face almost lovingly.

"Yes, that's it my darling. So _obedient_."

Finally, he seemed to recover from his episode, and he began to move. Like the rest of him, his cock was on the larger side. Its thickness stretched her lips almost painfully and skimmed over her tongue as Eddie pressed himself further into her mouth. She gagged when he hit the back of her throat. Again, she swallowed to suppress the reflex, and again he treated her to a broken, shuddery sigh. Her body responded in kind, and she could feel goosebumps break out over her whole body.

This was so, so wrong. Yet, as she reminded herself for the thousandth time, it was a necessity.

Her body certainly had no qualms about it. Her chest felt tight and hot, and if she'd stopped to put her underwear on before she ran, she was sure the material would be soaked through. She fisted her hands in her lap, twisting the material hard as Eddie began to thrust in and out of her mouth. His grip on her hair was tight, but Jaye could only whimper in protest at the pain, immobile. The sound only served to spur him on, the noise of her discomfort making him gasp and draw breath in short, broken, panting bursts.

Gods, the _sounds_ he was making. With every stroke over her tongue, every time his cock hit the back of her throat, every time he pulled back so that he very nearly withdrew from her mouth completely, he would make a gravelly, guttural grunting noise deep in his throat that made Jaye's insides clench.

This shouldn't be effecting her the way it was. She should be disgusted by every little motion he made, not growing more hot and bothered by the second. But the fact that it was having that effect on her made it easier to deal with, easier to envision that it was someone else there in front of her plunged balls-deep into her mouth.

She'd dated a guy...shamefully, she couldn't remember his name now, but he'd loved to do this same thing to her. He was tall, too, with dark hair and a lean body and long, skilled fingers, and she had loved him doing it just as much as he did.

She'd loved the way he got so vocal and wild and rough, plying her lips and tongue until he was practically _singing_ for her. It made her feel powerful, desirable, a force to be reckoned with even though he was the one who'd done all the work. He'd loved it when he'd come home after work to have her drop to her knees and _worship_ him, to offer him all she had and take all he could give in return. Jaye had always been one who enjoyed pleasing her partner.

This occasion was no different. She was starting to _enjoy_ the way he pinned her body to the doors with his legs so she couldn't move. She was starting to feel pleased with herself for the noises he was producing, the way he had started to thrust frantically and make her lips go numb being stretched around him. The more she enjoyed it, the worse she felt about herself for doing so. She prayed that it would end soon, that this humiliation could be over. But it had already gone on far longer than she'd expected and Eddie didn't seem like he was tiring. She let out a pathetic, whimpering moan at the same time that he made a sound of his own. Eddie paused, a satisfied, leering smirk curling his lips.

"You little slut. You're enjoying this aren't you?"

Eddie stopped moving and pulled out of her mouth, a strand of her saliva connecting to the end of his cock. Jaye was a bit startled when she instinctively trailed after it with an open mouth.

"Tell me," Eddie demanded, taking himself in hand and turning his hips away from her. "Tell me the truth."

Slowly, Jaye nodded, terrified that he'd take that as an offense. Punishments weren't meant to be enjoyed. But she _was_ enjoying it, and hating herself for liking a thing so twisted.

Eddie didn't seem angry though. Based on the haggard panting he was doing, she'd say he was eager to re-commence.

"Say it," he urged. "I want you to tell me with this filthy little mouth of yours."

"I...I like it," she confessed, burning with shame. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to."

She was apologizing to herself more than to him.

"You aren't," Eddie agreed. "The lesson won't stick if you like it. But it's alright. You're such a sweet, obedient little bride. I can't wait for us to be married, my love."

"Do you...want to stop?" Jaye hoped his answer would be yes, prayed that he'd end this ordeal. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so disgusted with herself. But she knew fortune wouldn't smile on her.

"No, my darling. We've come this far. We might as well finish it."

"Y-yes."

Jaye was absolutely furious with herself for how eagerly she opened her mouth to him the second time. Her lips welcomed him in and she slurped him down, feeling every bit the whore he accused her of being. She tried to hold back the little moans, to show that the lesson would take without having to be repeated, but Eddie was having none of that.

"Go on, whore. Let me hear it. Show me how much you enjoy it."

Jaye gave up the fight and complied with his wishes, letting her moans and whimpers engulf his dick as he thrust harder, her head pressing painfully against the doors with every movement.

His breathing grew more shallow, less audible, and Jaye could easily guess what would happen next. His entire body went rigid. She could see the skin of his abdomen draw tight across his muscles and his hands in her hair clenched shut. He came suddenly and with force, only a small grunt preceding his release. Spurt after spurt hit the back of her mouth in hot, thick bursts. Jaye held her mouth shut when he pulled away from her. She leaned over to cough and sputter, desperate to rid her mouth of every trace of his taste.

"No," Eddie stopped her, his voice shaky. "Don't do that. Don't _waste_ my seed."

"Swallow it," he commanded her. "Swallow every bit of it."

Tears leaking out the corners of her eyes, Jaye obeyed.

When it was all over, Jaye panted for breath, the lack of oxygen and her overpowering arousal making her head spin. Eddie fared no better, his chest heaving as he caught his own breath. She had to act now, before he recovered. He still had her pinned between his body and the doors, but not as tightly as before. There was enough room for her to reach back and jiggle the knob.

Locked. Just her luck.

Jaye was frustrated, growing desperate as tears stung in her eyes. It had all been for nothing! She could feel a frustrated scream build up, bubbling at the back of her throat and only held back by the look of utter rage on Eddie's face.

"You vulgar, manipulative whore! You made me do this to you! Look at you, tempting me before our wedding with your—"

Eddie suddenly stopped, hands pressed against the doors on either side of her head. Something outside of the room had caught his attention, and whatever it was made him grin ear to ear. He yanked on her arm and tossed her aside like used rubbish, then advanced on her. The impact with the ground stunned Jaye, and she was completely helpless as he manhandled her over to a standing locker by the opposite wall. She kicked and fought, but he was too strong, seeming re-energized by the thing he'd sighted in the hall. He turned the locker completely around to face the wall, trapping her within. Then, he began to sing.

"When I was a boy my mother often said to me, get married boy and see how happy you will be. I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find, who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind."

She saw him peer in at her through the slats in the side of the locker, his eyes full of hatred and disgust. She heard footsteps some distance aw;ay, the frightened breathing of someone who had wandered into Gluskin's hell. Eddie eyed the door, a wicked, nasty grin spreading on his face, and Jaye heard him moving away from the locker.

"I shall have to look around until the right one I have found."

Even if Jaye could turn around in the locker, she couldn't do much to move it. There was barely enough space for her standing up. Throwing her weight around wouldn't do her any good. She scrubbed at her face and mouth with her shaking hands. She doubted he'd just leave her here. He'd be back to string her up, just as soon as he captured the wanderer who'd garnered his interest She'd run out of plans.

It was all over now.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter **NINE**

When he had started running from Chris, Simon had no idea that Jaye was no longer with him. It was only later, after he'd tripped over some fallen rubble, that he noticed her absence. Chris was still chasing him then, and it became more about leading him as far away from Jaye as possible. She was probably still running, the blind panic overwhelming her as she fought to survive. He knew she'd continue to fight. She _always_ fought. They'd meet again for sure, but this time he was going to look out for her.

Of course, meeting again meant that _he_ had to survive too. For being so large, his hunter moved terrifyingly fast. Simon thought that his size and weight would maybe slow him down a little, but the juggernaut tore after him like a hound after a fox. Simon's legs pumped as hard as they could, long limbs allowing him a good deal of speed. But Chris was always just a few steps behind, no matter how fast he ran. He'd been going in circles for a while, doing laps in the upper levels of the prison and searching for some kind of exit or hiding spot. He couldn't get to the lower levels, not without delaying himself on the stairs. Such a delay would allow his pursuer a chance to catch up. He couldn't very well jump to the lower levels, either. The landing would probably stun him or injure him if he did it wrong. As panicked as he was, there was a good chance that he _would_ land wrong.

His break finally came when he spotted a bit of light in one of the cells. The illumination was coming from a crack in the floor, which connected to a large broken portion of the back wall. That was his only chance. Hoping that the cell was unlocked, Simon wrenched on the door. He slammed it shut behind him when it swung open, then dove at the break in the wall. Chris was roaring, swinging, throwing his weight against the door to open it. But Simon was already squeezing into the gap, his body barely fitting in the small space. He scooted back into the space and shuffled sideways until he was no longer visible from the door. Fat load of good it did as far as hiding him, since his enormous pursuer already knew where Simon was, but it gave him a brief window in which to think up an escape. It didn't look like the break went very far. There was no secret maintenance corridor it connected to, either. It was literally just a big hole in the wall, and Simon felt like a big, stupid rat. He'd practically gift-wrapped himself.

_'No, don't freak out just yet,'_ he told himself. '_Even if he __**can**__ snap through the wall like it's made of toothpicks." _

He had to stop and think, and ignore the rampaging shredder for a moment to solve the dilemma.

The break in the wall wasn't a way out, but there _was_ a long, heavy broken bit of wood on the ground in the gap. Simon picked it up, testing its weight in his hands. Satisfied, he gripped it tightly, took a deep breath,and waited.

It only took a moment for his assailant to tear the door off by its hinges, the metal bars bending like a cheap coat-hanger under his weight. He made for Simon's hiding spot immediately. Simon could feel the floor shaking from his heavy footsteps, could hear the loud rattling of broken chains. Rather than reach into the hole, Chris elected to punch a hole straight through the already-brittle wall. His fist passed the side of Simon's face by a mere inch, and Simon made his move.

He jammed the wood into the monster's fingers and wedged the other end between two pieces of protruding rebar above. It wouldn't hold long, but it was enough to temporarily pin his attacker's hand, enough to give him a head start. Simon darted from his hiding place, dashing by Chris trying to wrench his hand free. He took a swing at Simon with his free arm, but the smaller male ducked out of his reach, flipped him off, and made a mad dash for the stairs.

Simon practically dove down the stairs, building more momentum as he descended. His feet touched the last step when he heard his pursuer let loose an enraged roar and pull his hand free in shower of wood and broken drywall. Simon didn't have much time. He didn't want to waste hours hiding in the lower cells, and honestly felt that it would end in blood anyway. Instead, he went for a door labeled "Male Ward" and all but fell through it, plunging himself into pitch-black darkness.

Simon fumbled for the flashlight in the front pocket of his pack,switched it on, and began searching for something to block or wedge the door shut. It was a heavier wooden door, but unless it was blocked, any pursuer could just open it. There was a pile of rubble just a few feet from where he stood. There was bound to be something useful there.

Once he'd located another long bit of wood, Simon returned to the door and wedged the wood under the knob. He nearly laughed when he saw the door also locked on its own. Well, better to leave the wood too, just in case. He could still hear the hulking predator prowling around outside the door. Simon would definitely not be going back that way. He took a moment, just long enough to catch his breath, and then Simon was on his way down the hall, guided by the beam of his flashlight.

Had Jaye come this way?

No, not likely. She would have blocked the door behind her too. She must have gone the other way, either towards the outdoor areas or back towards the administrative block. He'd have to find a way around to those places…but navigating without the map would be difficult. He was just as lost as his sister probably was. He only knew that he was either in or on his way to the Male Ward, as the sign on the door had helpfully pointed out. He'd just have to hope for more helpful signage along the way. Doubtful that there'd be any though.

He had the oddest feeling of removal in the darkened hall. In the prison, there'd been the sounds of life in the distance, footsteps and murmurs and the noises of the building itself, old water pipes working to move the liquid from one end of the building to the other. But here, all of those sounds seemed muffled and the air was heavy. It as the sort of heaviness you felt just before a storm broke, ominous and stifling. It made Simon's footfalls echo that much louder.

At the very least, there didn't seem to be anyone lurking in the dark, save a single inmate huddled near the very end of the hall. He curled into a ball when Simon neared, and did not speak or look at him. Simon left him alone as well. His attention wasn't on the inmate anyway. There was a little bit of light as he entered the ward proper, and the light revealed two possible paths to take. The leftmost path was a dead end, but the right path led to a wide open office area.

Like every other part of the asylum he'd seen so far, the offices were pretty much wrecked. Overturned chairs, phones giving off repetitive "dead line" noises, and barren, raw wood floors greeted his sight. It was bizarre how much more derelict the area seemed to be compared to the rest of the asylum. He'd seen more raw, splintery wood and peeling wallpaper in the last couple of minutes than during the rest of his visit. It was as if the entire wing was cut off from the rest, trapped in a different time and given less care than other parts of the building.

He wondered why they wouldn't bother to maintain anything if the place was still active. Then again, why would they care? Seeing the state of the patients, it wasn't that shocking. Still, he would think they'd have enough self-preservation to want to keep inmates from being able to punch through walls. Simon could easily see the walls and floor collapsing, the old, rotted wood giving way easily under any kind of assault.

The thought made Simon anxious. If that walking wrecking ball found him in here, there was nothing to stop him from completely destroying the place to hunt his prey down. He had to get going.

The silence was the sort so heavy that your brain started to pick up and amplify every little sound. Simon's brain took these amplified sounds and inserted imaginary ones. In this place, mixed with the sounds that were real, it was making him feel as though he tiptoed along the edge of a blade. Paranoid beyond paranoid. As though the smallest misstep could sent him plummeting forward onto the blade's tip.

He knew Jaye probably walked on that blade too. He tried not to worry too much about her. She was always the careful one, the sensible one. But here, you couldn't be too careful. And sense would be driven from you the second one of the asylum's murderous tenants gave chase, marked you as prey. He truly hoped she was safe. Jaye liked to put on a brave front for his sake, but she was more vulnerable than she liked people to know.

As for Simon himself, he had apparently lucked out for the most part. Silence meant empty halls, at least for the moment. He tried to recall the layout of the lost map, but the details were gone, chased away as he'd been chased away. He had a strong feeling that Jaye wasn't even nearby, but he did not want to bypass her by mistake. He'd search the ward anyway.

But time was not, and never had been, on his side. He heard banging just down the hall, the frantic noise of someone large throwing their weight against the door he'd blocked. There was no time to search now, no time to wander the ward and stick his head into rooms calling his sister's name. It was time to go. Any minute now, his large "friend" would be in his face again. He had to hand it to the big guy, he was tenacious.

Simon tried a few doors on his way deeper into the ward, but oddly a lot of them were locked. Perhaps they'd been shut to keep inmates from escaping? Or perhaps the inmates themselves were keeping something out. Simon could occasionally hear murmurs through the doors as he walked by, the whispers of hidden patients.

Eventually, he found a door that wasn't locked and led to a staircase. He was apprehensive about leaving without a thorough search. But with Chris' presence, he just couldn't risk it. He had to trust in his instinct that Jaye hadn't come to the ward.

It wasn't long before he'd reached the top of the staircase. The passage had been narrow enough to dispel his fears of his pursuer reaching him; there was just no way a guy that huge could fit through a space so small. But the upper levels could be hiding new fears. He'd have to tread carefully. This area was much larger, more open, and well-lit. It somehow seemed even more out of place than the rest of the ward. There were more offices, empty rooms with not a single soul in sight. No inmates, no hostile hunters, and no Jaye. Simon didn't spend too much time investigating. Where was the point? His main focus was on finding a way forward. She wasn't here. He was almost a hundred percent sure of it.

His wanderings took him through a large kitchen, the floors and counters suspiciously clean except for a large hunk of meat sitting by the industrial stove. Simon didn't stop to question what kind of meat it was. It wasn't that hard to guess. No point in letting that knowledge fester in his brain. Worrying about it wouldn't make him any less lost. He quickly passed through the kitchen, beyond a sizable dumbwaiter, and entered a large, open foyer.

He could hear the deafening pounding rain on the roof of the asylum and followed the sound to a wide open door with a red glowing "exit" sign on top of it. No, it wasn't just that the doors were open; they'd been torn right off, exposing the pouring rain and violent flashes of lightning. That was one possible path to take. But behind Simon was an elevator, and that elevator could lead to other parts of the ward as well…or a different part of the building altogether. Dammit, why didn't the place have some sort of directory? _All_ the halls looked the same.

He turned so that he could glance from the elevator to the exit, weighing his options carefully. Outside, and he'd be away from the variants and the quiet ward. But he'd be soaked, disoriented even more, and there was no telling how huge the outdoor area was. Hell, he wondered if it would even reconnect to the rest of the building. No, he'd go up the elevator, through the upper floors this time, and find another way around. The elevator was stuck a floor below though. He could see it plainly through the folding metal gates that served as doors to the elevator.

Simon turned and pressed the button for the elevator, and was only slightly surprised when absolutely nothing happened. It was an older style of elevator, likely manually operated, so he could probably pry the doors open with a bit of effort. He opened his pack to find something to use, but came up empty save for a knife which was identical to Jaye's.

Well, it was better than nothing.

He flicked the knife open and wedged the blade into the space between the gate's halves, then began to wiggle the knife. It was a tough knife, but the metal gate was old and rusty and heavy. It was hard to make it budge. Slowly, he urged a gap open, wide enough to squeeze his fingers in between, then withdrew the knife before the strain could snap it. Holding his flashlight between his teeth, Simon pushed and heaved until he could shimmy through the gate. He held onto the criss-crossing metal to keep from falling down onto the stopped elevator, then carefully lowered himself so that his body was dangling into the shaft. The fall wouldn't be that great, but it would still be enough to knock him off his feet, probably. Simon tucked the knife and the flashlight away. He took a breath, counted to three, chickened out, counted to three again, and then let go. His feet hit the top of the elevator hard and he lost his balance, just as he expected. It didn't hurt much, and it wasn't long before he was back on his feet so that he could open the hatch on top. It opened smoothly, and Simon dropped easily into the box proper.

Hopefully the control panel still worked…

Simon hit the button for the elevator to move two floors up, and waited. Slowly, the container began to lift itself up the shaft. The movement seemed to take forever, the old mechanical parts straining to lift the box's weight. But when it finally did stop, and the rusty doors creaked open, Simon wished it hadn't moved at all. He could hear muffled screaming not far away, two voices overlapping but sounding like cotton had been stuffed in their mouths.

Fear returned, an ugly old hound biting at the back of his knees. Those were screams of pain and terror, caused by something that was not Simon himself. He couldn't immediately see anyone, but as soon as he turned down the only available hallway, he felt that he'd already seen too much. The screams were from men strapped to hospital beds, metal frames connected to their wrists by handcuffs that held fast against their struggling and convulsing. There was a massive smear of blood in the middle of the hall, as if someone had been dragged through.  
"Holy shit," he muttered to himself.

What the hell had he walked into? If Jaye were here, she'd have stopped him from going into the elevator. She'd have suggested they go outside instead and he wouldn't be here now, dumbly following the blood down the hall like a pigeon snatching at a delicious trail of breadcrumbs. The blood led to a wide open room with more hospital beds, dimly lit and smeared with even more arterial spray. There was more grime and gore here than anyone had business seeing, and Simon immediately turned around to go back to the elevator. As soon as he whirled around, however, he found that his way was blocked by a tall, distorted figure. A torn surgeon's mask covered part of a mutilated face, doing little to hide the damage to the flesh which was probably self-inflicted. Simon gaped in shock at the man's sudden appearance. He was close, literally right within arm's reach, and Simon could only marvel at how he'd managed to sneak up on him. He saw what was left of the man's mouth curl into a mocking, sardonic smile.  
"What's the matter, buddy? Cat got your tongue?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Content Warnings:** This chapter contains descriptions of torture including assault on the male genitalia. And more Trager snark than you can shake a stick at, as well as terrible puns. This was by far my favorite chapter to write..

Chapter **TEN**

Simon recoiled like he'd been struck by a viper. He had nowhere to go, no room to run past this man, and a very slim chance of talking himself out of the situation. Jaye was the talker, not him. He always just _did_.

He could only stare at the man with his withered features and overgrown fingernails and slowly, slowly back into the room of stained hospital beds. He was backing himself further into the hellhole, but he hoped a gap would open up as the man entered the room with him. If that happened, he could at least run around him, squeeze past back into the hallway and make for the elevator…

"Come on now, buddy, don't hold out on me. It's been a long time since I actually had a conversation with someone. So why don't we sit down and have a little _chat_, hm?"

Simon expected himself to be tongue-tied, expected all reason and speech to be driven from him, both from fear and from the fact that this weathered specimen was _talking_ to him. His tone was so casual, almost amicable, and it completely threw him off.

But not enough to keep him from being a smartass, apparently.

"Nah," he retorted, nerves and terror making him _giggle,_ of all things. "I'd rather just leave if that's okay."

"Don't be like that," his attacker replied. "Can't even keep an old man company, huh? Tell ya what, you help me and I'll uh…help you. I've been meaning to do a little market research, and I think you're just the guy for the job."

"Sorry," Simon said, continuing to back away until the backs of his legs hit one of the beds. He gave a wry, humorless chuckle. "I've got other obligations."

"You're gonna leave ol' Ricky hanging, huh buddy? Typical. It'll only take a minute. Whaddya say? Help me help _you_!"

His last word was punctuated by a sudden increase in volume and the crazed interloper lunged at him. Simon let himself fall back onto the bed. His attacker followed, his weight falling on top of Simon as he reached with spindly fingers for his throat. Simon struggled and fought, managed to get his feet up under the walking hunk of jerky's chest, and kicked hard. Trager flopped off of him with a harsh thud, and Simon could hear the air rush out of his lungs. The red-haired man was up in an instant, feet pounding against the cold floor as he flew down the hall past the man. The roaring, rushing noise of his own pulse drowned out the sounds of the tall man pulling himself to his feet and shouting after him. He became tunnel-visioned, focused only on the act of reaching the elevator. He didn't see any of the patients strapped to beds, or the peeling of the wallpaper or the stains on the floor. His brain had blocked all of it out.

So he forgot about the blood on the floor.

His boots squeaked loudly as the slick puddle coated his soles. Simon went down as though he'd stepped on pure ice. His left leg twisted painfully and he felt a sharp pop as he fell, releasing a shout of pain. He struggled to haul himself to his feet, but a combination of the slick puddle and a likely dislocated ankle kept him grounded. Her cursed himself for his poor luck and carelessness, but tried to get up again.

"Need a little help there, buddy?"

The man had caught up to him, and a long arm reached for him, fingers closing around the strap of Simon's pack. He hauled him up with a surprising amount of strength before decking him hard across the face. Simon stumbled back, reeling from the blow and feeling a few teeth loosen. He blinked through the pain, somehow managing to stay on his feet.

"Hah," he laughed. "I've taken harder hits on the schoolyard."

He earned another hard blow for his snark, hard enough to send him sinking back to the floor on his knees. He felt the other man's arms go under his, elbows locking against his body. This guy was _strong_, strong enough to begin dragging him backwards through the hall despite his struggles.

"Come on, pal, don't be such a stick in the mud. I"m giving you a golden opportunity here."

He squeezed Simon harder and hauled him over towards the wall close to the room with the beds. Simon continued to struggle, using his feet to try pulling himself upright.

"Prickly little porcupine, aren't ya? Why don'tcha just relax for a minute? Here, I'll administer a light anesthetic."

He pulled Simon back and then abruptly slammed his head right into the wall, harder than any blow the young man had endured from bullies. A vibrant nebula of swirling light and blinding pain danced across Simon's vision, and he went limp with the agony. A pained groan escaped him as he collapsed into a languid heap.

"There we go. Nice and tranquil. Now if you'll just come right this way…"

Simon felt himself being dragged again,and this time he was actually helpless to fight it. He blearily watched as stained floors and hospital beds passed by. They came to a stop shortly after in a dark room that reeked of coppery blood and something more foul. Simon felt himself being lifted, then strapped into a seating position, secured by the wrists. He struggled weakly, still foggy from the pain.

"There now. Doesn't that feel better? You know, you really should take better care of yourself. All that floppin' around…it's almost enough to make me think you have some sorta uh…_neurological_ _condition_," the crazed surgeon gave a dry, harsh bark of laughter. "Don't you worry though. Ol' Rick is gonna take good care of you. And in return, help an old coot out for a few minutes, why dontcha?"

The man began to hum to himself as he stood to turn on the lights. Simon blinked against the brightness and waited for his senses to adjust to the new environment. It only took a few seconds, and when he could focus again, he became aware of several things.

First and foremost was the source of the smell. Simon had been taken into the nastiest bathroom conceived by human hands. Sinks and urinals were caked with grime and dark substances he didn't want to identify. The urinals had been converted into crude racks of a sort, menacing surgical tools propped up inside the porcelain baskets. Blood covered every surface he could see; floors, walls, sinks, and the filthy mirrors over them. Sewage and rot was the acrid odor. Simon and Jaye had actually explored an old, drained sewer system before. Though the water and garbage and refuse were gone, the stink remained. That was exactly how this room smelled, like no amount of cleaning could ever rid it of its taint.

The other most obvious detail about the room was the presence of someone else, a mutilated and fingerless variant who sat strapped in a wheelchair across from him. His mouth was stuffed and wrapped with cloth that effectively muted his screaming. When he saw Simon, he began to struggle hard against his restraints.

"Just a moment," Trager scolded the bound man. "I'm a little busy right this second."

Simon watched the spindly man as he set down his pack, pilfered from his back at some point during the trip to the room, before approaching one of the sinks. He heard the sound of running water, and the surgeon continued to hum to himself. Simon prayed for the room to stop spinning, astounded by the absurdity of the situation.

"Are you…actually _washing your hands_?" he weakly inquired.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness," the man answered. "Not that there _are_ any gods, mind you. Er…no offense to any religion you might follow."

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?"

What did any of that have to do with anything?

The withered man whirled around, his palms slapping together like an excited child's.

"I'm glad you asked, buddy. Picture this; a city just rife with big-name, fat cat stockbrokers. What do _they_ believe in? Not god, that's for sure. The only faith they have is in their crinkly little piles of green. To them, god died a long time ago. Ah…about the time the gold standard system did."

What in the flying purple fuck was he talking about?

Simon had no idea what any of his words meant. Jaye probably would. She knew a lot more about that financial mumbo-jumbo than he ever would. It was easy to forget sometimes that his sister had an actual, successful dayjob. It was easy to forget that he did, too, that there had been life before all of this hell.

This guy liked to hear himself talk though. If he was this chatty after losing his mind, Simon didn't even want to imagine how many hours he'd yapped to himself before going off the deep end. He was full of movement, hands flying around in wild gestures as he spoke. He wasn't looking at Simon though, not directly anyway. So the redhead used the chance to struggle against his restraints. His captor had been hasty in strapping him in, perhaps he'd just wanted to make sure he was secured before he could recover from the blow to his head. As a result, the straps weren't tightened completely. Simon focused on his right hand first, discreetly wiggling and watching as the strap loosened a tiny bit at a time. If he went slow, there was less of a chance of "Ricky" noticing.

"So what do we do when it all falls down? When the money becomes worthless?" Trager asked, approaching the urinals-turned-tool-racks. He turned to face Simon, clearly expecting an answer. Simon stopped moving.

"Uh…well maybe my pog collection will finally serve a purpose," he said.

This earned a loud, sharp laugh from the would-be surgeon.

"Close! But no cigar," Trager answered, picking out a long, sharp, skinny surgical instrument that Simon had only seen waltzing across the lobes of his brain in his worst nightmares. "No, when that happens, we move on to something more _tangible_. We turn the consumer into a means of production. Why, even the littlest man has a part to play."

Simon's heart froze in his chest with terror as Trager leaned over him, the sharp tool pressing hard against his throat without breaking the skin. His voice went lower, losing its spark of humor.

"Now how do you think we do that, buddy?"

Simon didn't blink, didn't swallow, didn't breathe. He didn't know what the man wanted him to say, but he was more than willing to bet that if he said the wrong thing, it'd be _his_ blood adding to the bathroom's lovely décor next. Thankfully, he didn't have to think about an answer too intensely, because his captor soon moved away with the cutting tool, towards the variant who was bound much more securely in his wheelchair. He must have been a little too obvious with his own escape attempts.

"I'll tell ya how. You find a niche market. You find what you're good at, and you make a living off of it. Take Hawthorne here, for instance," and at this, Trager placed the tool over the variant's throat instead. "He had a uh…very _specific_ niche market before his untimely retirement. Now, I"m loathe to give you all the details, but I'll say this; it involved the internet and kids and…well, I'm sure you can figure it out. You seem like a pretty smart cookie."

Simon's face went pale at the implication. Oh, he had a pretty good idea alright.

"Anyway, no matter how crapsack the world gets, there just isn't a place for _that_ kind of sick production. I mean, I'm a man with _some_ standards, ya know? Nobody wants to see that, except for sickos like Hawthorne, of course. Ain't that right, old dog?"

He delivered a kick to the side of the trapped variant's wheelchair, hard enough to shake the frame back and forth.

"So whaddya say? Should we find our friend here a more appropriate niche market?"

The other captive's screaming intensified, his flailing against the wheelchair doing little to free him. Trager used the tool to trace along the man's nude belly, contemplating where he should cut next. Simon couldn't take his eyes off the ends of the severed digits on his prisoner's hands.

"Oh, don't get so worked up about those," Trager said, and moved away from his victim to grab up a metal cup on a nearby rolling cart. He shook the contents of the cup next to Simon's ear, letting him hear the nasty sound of them sloshing around in blood.

Horrified, Simon fought a gag.

"Soylent green _is_ people," he muttered.

It was the only answer he could think of, what with all the talk about useless cash and seemingly apocalyptic tidings. The cannibalism wasn't that much of a stretch, either. It seemed to be almost a running theme here. But the "doctor" looked almost offended by his suggestion.

"Hey now, I'm not some sort of _freak, _buddy," he frowned under the surgeon's mask. The frown was quickly replaced by a concealed grin. "Though I do know a guy further down the ward with certain proclivities for that stuff. Maybe he'd be interested in a little _finger food_. They're worthless to me anyway. Nobody wants fingers from a kiddie diddler."

He shook the cup one more time, then put it back down and returned to his task of deciding which extremities to sever next.

"Now, what's the most valuable part on a swine like this, I wonder? The liver? Nah, that's nothin' but trash. How bout his kidneys? Probably as fulla shit as the rest of him. Now…Ah! I know! Hey, buddy, you know of any delicacies?"

Shocked to silence, Simon struggled to find an answer as Trager pointed at him with his sharp instrument. Feeling that he was quite literally on the hot seat, Simon blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"Uh…Rocky Mountain oysters?"

"Aha! I like the way you think, kid! Rocky Mountain oysters! How perfect! Karmic, even! Did you know that this little prick's antics resulted in an investigation? Can you believe that? Almost led to a lawsuit. Jer really flipped his shit when he found out. It took balls doing whatcha did, Hawthorne. Seems only right to remove em, dontcha think?"

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god, what had he done? By opening his big, stupid mouth, had he really condemned another man to castration?

Simon couldn't stop to think about it. He couldn't give in to the desire to look, to see if he'd really do it. He couldn't absorb the sound of the variant's chilling, muffled screams as Trager traced his scrotum with the wicked cutter. He had to get loose before Trager had a chance to do the same to him.

_'Struggle. Fight. Got to get out. Can't stop.' _

That mantra had been drilled into his head countless times, every time that he'd been confronted by a bully at school when he was a child. It rang true now, and his heart pumped a wild amount of adrenaline through his veins.

Little by little, the strap on his right wrist loosened, enough for him to pull his hand free. He began to work at the other strap, the process going quickly since he had the aid of his dominant hand. He glanced up every few seconds, making sure that the surgeon's focus was still on the variant. If he caught him escaping right under his nose, he was likely to drop everything and attack.

Simon had thought maybe the guy was joking at first, a rare non-murderous figure roaming the asylum. But now that the man was gleefully sawing off another man's testicles right in front of him, that doubt had jumped out a window and broken its goddamn neck.

The variant's screams rose to a fever pitch, the fabric gag practically useless at silencing him, and Simon heard the distinct noise of ripping flesh.

_'Block it out. Get up. __**Run**__.' _

When the screams reached a horrible crescendo, Simon sucked in a deep breath and dislocated his thumb, sliding his hand out of the cuff with ease (but no small amount of pain). There simply wasn't enough time to gently work it out. Trager was still cutting away, busy as a bee and totally absorbed in his task. Quickly, and as quietly as possible, Simon rose from the wheelchair, grabbed at his pack, then grabbed the nearest heavy object he saw.

"There we are, one pair of Rocky Mountain oysters, fresh from the source," Trager chuckled to himself, turning a bit so that Simon saw a mass of bloodied flesh in one hand. The variant's screaming had devolved into harsh, drawn-out sobs. Simon's jaw clenched, his arms flexed, and he readied himself to swing the heavy tool he'd picked up.

"You crazy motherfucker," he said.

"Hey now let's not be ru—"

Simon struck out with his makeshift bludgeon, smashing into the side of Trager's face with a loud thud and cracking the glasses on that side.

"Gotcha monologuing!" Simon yelled triumphantly, a completely out of place smirk dancing on his lips.

Trager didn't go down, but the blow was good enough for Simon. He booked it like he was on fire, not stopping to look at the suffering man strapped into the wheelchair, or at the nice, bloody cut his hit had produced. This time, he avoided the blood puddle, limping around it with his bum ankle and making a break for the elevator. He had just reached the doors, had just begun the struggle to climb up the hatch, when the surgeon poked his head around the edge of the doors, a wicked pair of bone shears in hand.

"Don't bail on me just yet, buddy!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter ELEVEN**

Simon quite literally swung on the precipice between life and death.

Trager took hold of one of Simon's ankles (naturally, this meant he grabbed the one that was injured already) and began to pull, trying to disengage the young man's hold. In return, Simon kicked and flailed, but his grip loosened more and more by the second. A sharp pain in his side shocked him into letting go completely. Simon hit the floor of the elevator with a grunt, rolling over to face his attacker.

Trager's bone shears were rusted and filthy and tipped with fresh blood. _His_ blood, Simon realized as he palmed his side. Hot fluid was seeping through his shirt to cover his hand. Damn, just how deeply had he been prodded?

Trager chuckled as he hauled him up and slammed him into the side of the elevator.

"Ooh, that looks like it stings. You should let me help you out. You can trust me. I'm a _doctor_."

"Fuck off!" Simon hissed through gritted teeth.

"Hey, hey, with the _language_, buddy! I'm just trying to help ya. Yeesh. Here I was thinkin' you were an open-minded sort. But apparently you're just another conservative."

Trager took hold of Simon's throat and looked him over, trying to decide the best place to slice him open.

"We're of two different mindsets. That's okay, that's how life goes. But that doesn't mean we can't get along. For instance, I think you've got real uh…guts, no pun intended, to walk out on me like that. I admire that kind of gumption. Not to say that I respect someone who _gives up,_ but I really gotta hand it to ya, buddy. I value courage."

"And here you were saying we needed more tangible value," Simon quipped, still struggling under his hold.

"Oh, you _were_ listening! I"m proud of ya! So whaddya say we find out just how valuable you really are? Let's see what you're _made of _buddy."

Simon saw the glint of the shears before Trager plunged the ends into his belly. He felt the blades begin to cut through his abdominal wall, overwhelmed with pain. Simon struggled, grasped at Trager's wrists to keep him from stabbing deeper. With frightening strength, Trager pushed back, bent on his task of slowly gutting the younger man.

Simon's hands instead caught the blades themselves, unable to keep his grip on Trager's wrists. He could feel the blood flowing form the deep wound. If that wound got much wider…

Simon thought briefly of his sister. There'd been a time, just after starting sixth grade, when he'd been confronted by an older boy and some of his friends who'd decided Simon needed to be "put in his place." When word had gotten to Jaye about the altercation-in-progress, she'd immediately run to his aid. She'd wound up with the scar across her nose for her troubles, but Simon had felt in awe of his sister. He'd felt loved, protected.

If she were here now, she'd jump right in to fight off Trager. But she wasn't. He was alone and lost, and this time Jaye couldn't help. He had to help himself.

The pain was almost too much to take, but Simon had to focus. He couldn't push Trager back, that much was obvious. He was simply too strong, all sinewy muscle without an ounce of fat. He'd have to use other tactics.

Abruptly, Simon headbutted the wannabe doctor. The movement pushed the blades in a little deeper, but Trager lost his grip on the shears as he staggered back. Simon quickly yanked the metal out of his stomach, heedless of the rush of blood, and rounded on his attacker with the most powerful punch he could muster.

Then he was up the hatch, blinking through the pain as he struggled to climb with blood-slicked hands. Once, after he'd gotten up and started climbing the shaft, he lost his grip and came close to falling down the side of the elevator. But he wedged his boot into the next foothold at an awkward angle. He felt the tendons screech as the action resulted in more injury to his ankle, but it kept him from plummeting back down. Below, he could see Trager climbing through the elevator hatch, hell-bent on his prey. Simon didn't watch, didn't linger on the thought that if he was caught again, he would die. He stared up to the level where he'd come down, stayed mindful of his footing, and climbed. He tried not to listen to the screech of metal on metal as Trager's shears caught the side of the elevator.

This was like something out of the worst sort of horror movie, the kind where the killer always came back at the end. But Simon kept going, clawing his way back up little by little until he reached the metal gate at the top. He squeezed through the gap, heard Trager curse to himself when he started hobble-running away, and knew he'd given up. That didn't stop Simon from moving though, not until he'd bypassed his point of entry and no longer recognized his surroundings. He'd need to get his bearings to head outside, but here was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

His side and stomach ached with a piercing agony. Blood had completely soaked through his dark t-shirt and trickled down onto the waistband of his jeans. He couldn't tell how bad it was, how much blood he'd lost, if he'd even be able to go on.

No, he couldn't think like that. It was time to grow up and learn how to take care of himself. Besides, Jaye would smack him for thinking that. He had time, he had a first aid kit in his pack, and the area seemed pretty empty. Better to do it now.

Simon let the pack fall and then set upon it like a hungry wolf. He dug past glowsticks and harness clips and quick snacks until he found the plastic zip-bag containing the first aid supplies. His hands shook as he sank to the floor and unzipped the bag. Carefully, he peeled his soiled shirt away from the still-bleeding wounds on his middle. It pulled away easily since the blood hadn't dried at all, enabling Simon to feel along the depth of the wounds.

The one in his side was just a flesh wound, but the one on the front had breached the abdominal wall. He had no idea if his organs had been damaged, but he definitely wasn't about go ask Dr. Feelgood downstairs. He'd just have to suck it up, staunch the bleeding, and hope for the best.

He didn't have the means to clean the wounds. Who knew how much rust, grime, and blood had been encrusted on those shears?

So the next priority was stopping the bleeding. With his shaky hands, he began opening packages of anything absorbent. By the time he was done wiping, layering gauze, and taping the wounds, there wasn't much left except for butterfly closures. The wounds were still leaking through his dressing despite how tightly he'd wrapped them. Not much he could to about it. At least having them wrapped made him feel less like his guts would push out.

There wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to fix the ankle either, except for downing the two pain killers rolling around at the bottom of the first aid bag.

Shakily, he finally took a look around. It didn't look like the Male Ward anymore. It was still run down, and still filthy though. It smelled of charred meat and burnt hair and ashes, as if a whole furry animal had been thrown into an oven.

No, not an animal. There hadn't been any animals except for a few rats probably hidden in the walls. Certainly nothing big enough to produce such an acrid small.

Which meant that he was near a crematorium. Simon pondered if Trager would come down this way. He wasn't sure if the good "doctor" was the type to dispose of his victims' bodies or leave them to rot for experimentation purposes.

Regardless, someone was there. Someone who had used the cremation furnaces very recently. A sudden loud revving noise a distance down the hall made Simon freeze and duck behind the nearest large hunk of fallen wood. He stayed like that, waiting, listening, until he was sure that whatever or whoever had produced the noise wasn't targeting him. He stood from his hiding place, clutching his stomach. Though he was sure he was alone, he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.

He couldn't see or hear anyone, but there was the distinct sensation of being stared at. Well, as long as staring was all his invisible company did, he didn't' really care. But he stayed as silent as he could.

As he progressed, he found that spots were even more run-down than the Male Ward. He had to tread carefully over fallen debris and broken glass from some unknown source. Not that he could go very fast anyway, as pained as he was. He had to stop and rest several times, and each time he did, if he listened closely, he could hear the revving again. The sound seemed to be closer, and the halls became littered with the occasional dead body the closer to the noise he got. The bodies were all mutilated and cut up and splattered, many of them missing massive hunks of flesh. He tried not to focus on that, but a combination of the pain and the stench of cooked flesh, and the grisly sight the bodies made meant that it wasn't long before Simon was heaving onto the floor. Doing so jarred his stomach horribly, making him feel like his organs would come squeezing out if not for his tight bandaging.

The noise attracted the attention of whoever was revving the saw. Simon heard footsteps drawing ever closer, could hear someone sniffing the air a short distance away.

"Friends?" the figure asked, and Simon held his breath til he thought he'd pass out, until the presence was gone.

"Fuck," he hissed in pain, cursing his poor luck. He couldn't afford to get caught again. He wouldn't be able to run the next time around. And his injuries made his movements slow and clumsy. Stealth was difficult when you were trying not to screech in agony every few seconds.

He felt around in the shadows by his hiding spot, praying he'd find something heavy enough to use as a weapon. The rib-spreaders he'd used to hit Trager had long since been dropped, tumbling away and under one of the patient gurneys during his frantic flight. His hand closed around what looked to be a table leg.

"That'll work," he whispered to himself, gripping it like a bat.

At a snail's pace, Simon crept towards the nearest door and opened it, hoping that it was maybe an exit. It turned out to just be a storage room though, probably intended for housing cleaning tools. With a sigh, Simon backed out and continued to walk, not daring to use his flashlight.

After more of this aimless, futile wandering, Simon stopped to take another rest. There was a nearby door that probably led to another storage closet. That would be a good place to rest that wouldn't be so out in the open.

Simon neared the door, hand outstretched towards the knob. But the knob turned all on its own, and the door began to swing open. Someone stepped out, and before he could even think of panicking, a hand on the dangling pack strap yanked Simon down beside a fallen table. He felt another body there with him, and hand pressed firmly over his mouth. A faint "shh" was the only thing that kept him from biting down on the hand out of reflex. His heart was racing, pounding like a hammer. A faint, hardly-audible whisper, clear and lucid and intelligent, further calmed him down.

"You don't want to get his attention."

Simon nodded, breathing hard as the hand left his mouth. He couldn't see the face of his rescuer, but he figured if they were bent on killing him, they probably would have done so already. Wondering what all the fuss was, Simon carefully peered over the side of the table, despite hushed protest from the still unseen companion with him.

The threat stood in profile view by the door, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. A bit of light spilled out of the door way he'd come from, enough for Simon to get a good look at the man. Naked, filthy, and skinny, the man had a scraggly and wild beard soaked with blood. He was…actually rather unremarkable, save for the large, hand-held saw clutched in his hands. As if sensing him there, the man revved the saw, the loud noise meant for flushing out prey. It made Simon flinch, enough to crawl back down beside the table like a terrified rodent. Good thing, too, because only a moment later the stalker had turned in that direction to look.

"I can smell you," he announced, tone entirely too cheerful.

Neither of hiding men dared to move until the footsteps of the bearded man faded into the distance completely. When they were gone, Simon emerged from the hiding spot, table-leg weapon first. He checked to be sure the stalker was gone, then rounded on the man by the table.

"You've had your fun, come out!" he whispered harshly.

The other man complied, slowly crawling out of his spot until he could stand. He barely reached up to Simon's chin.

"Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you. You're looking for a way out, right? I can help."

Simon wanted to see better, look a at his new assailant before he cracked him over the head. He switched on the flashlight, shining the beam on the slight man's face.

A small man he was indeed, looking terrified and dressed in a prisoner's jumpsuit which looked too big for him. He seemed…different from anyone else he'd seen so far. _Alive_, not just in body but in mind. Heavy bags sat under distinctly-shaped eyes, and he looked as worn, weary, and nervous as Simon.

"How am I supposed to be expected to believe that?"

"Because I used to work here," the man answered.

Simon's arm, the one gripping the table-leg-bat, lowered to rest by his side. All the man had with him was a hand-held video camera. He didn't look dangerous at all.

"Okay, so maybe you really do know a way out. Which way is it then?"

"through that door, actually," the man gestured to where the saw-wielding variant had emerged.

"Of course it is," Simon scoffed. "And I'm guessing you're the one whos' been following me around?"

"I was, yeah," the shorter man confessed. "i knew you weren't like the others the second I saw you. I thought maybe I'd have a better chance of getting out with your help."

"So you were going to use me?" Simon asked dully.

"I mean, I wouldn't just walk out on you. I'd get you out. You scratch my back, I scratch yours? Ugh, this all just sounds bad. Let me start over. My name is Waylon Park. Up until I screwed up and got caught tattling on Murkoff, I was a tech consultant for them. Now I'm just as much an experiment as everyone else here. I know how to get out of here. Want to come with?"

Simon quirked a brow at Wayon.

"Are you serous?" he asked. Waylon shrugged at him.

"I know it's hard to believe me. Hell, _I_ still don't believe it. But I do know the way. At least, I know the general layout. I can get us out, but I could use someone to watch my back."

"There you go using that word again," Simon shook his head at him.

Waylon winced. "Sorry."

"Well, I don't know how much use I'd be anyway."

Simon made a show of the stains on his stomach and side, clearly displaying the wounds that robbed him of strength.

"All the more reason to get out of here, wouldn't you say? Unless you came here to die?"

"No! Of course not! I do appreciate the offer, but I can't leave. Not til I find my sister."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but all the female patients were moved a _long_ time ago."

"She's not a patient. She's not even supposed to be here. Neither of us are. We came here to do some urban exploration and got separated."

Waylon gave him a look that suggested he fully believed Simon to be insane. One brow was quirked, glance dancing between Simon's face and the screen of the camera. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. Simon got ht feeling that he had just mentally backspaced something.

"This isn't a good place for a woman to be wandering around," Waylon said at last.

"Last I checked, this isn't a good place for _anyone_ to be wandering around," Simon retorted, tone defensive.

"You have a point," Waylon conceded. "Do you know where she is?"

"Dude, I don't even know where _I_ am."

"Not good. If you don't know where she is, finding her is going to be next to impossible. Where'd you get separated?"

"The prison block," Simon answered. "I'd say that was probably about an hour ago."

"Okay, this could work. I want to head that way anyway. There's a shortwave radio up there that we can use to call for help. Then we can find your sister, and get the hell out."

"Okay," Simon said. "But what about the guy down that way?"

It took Waylon a moment to realize that Simon was referring to the cannibal. When he did, he frowned, remembering the danger.

"This way. Through the crematorium."

Waylon led him through the open door and into the furnace room. The small was even worse there, stinging Simon's eyes with its acrid odor.

The ovens were tall and wide, churning with activity. Clearly, someone had been using them.

"Oh man, I hope he's not planning on cooking tonight," Waylon remarked.

Simon didn't ask what he meant. Some things were better left unsaid.

"So where's the way out?" Simon asked.

"It's this way, I think."

Waylon began to head in another direction. All had been quiet so far. The noise of the buzz saw had been dead for a while. It was almost _more_ unsettling this way. And Jaye had taught Simon that if something was too good to be true, it almost always was.

So when the variant burst through the very door Waylon was reaching for, Simon wasn't that surprised. When he grabbed Waylon, Simon booked it, acting on instinct alone. But almost immediately, another part of him regretted his cowardice. He'd run so many times already. He was so tired of being _that guy_. He knew he couldn't run forever. Sooner or later, he would have to fight back.

He backpedaled, raising his makeshift bat high. He brought it down on the variant's head with a sickening crunch, and the man went down, saw clattering away from him a few feet. Simon moved to Waylon in a few long strides and hauled him up by the arm. Then together they were moving, away from the cannibal and through the halls, winding this way and that until the only path that remained to them was a large spiraling scaffolding. Broken or incomplete in places, it would make for a treacherous climb. But it was the only way forward.

Simon panted hard, leaning against the wall and pushing against his wounds with his hands. The more he kept going, the worse the pain got. How long would it be until sepsis set in and he died from his own body poisoning itself?

Jaye was right. He was an idiot. All of this was his fault. His injuries, his disorientation, them getting split up…he had no one to blame but himself. And if she was in trouble because of him, if she was laying dead somewhere…

He couldn't even think about it.

He groaned and pulled his hands away from his abdomen, palms coming away covered in fresh blood.

"Fuck," he mumbled. He felt a burst of rage course through him and he turned to punch the wall. "Fuck!"

"Are you okay?" Waylon approached him warily, worried about the man. He felt a little guilty that he'd dragged him along. Simon hadn't trusted him, but then five seconds later, he'd saved his life? Waylon couldn't read him at all, but he knew that now, he'd definitely not be leaving him behind. It was rare to meet anyone who would go out of their way to help a stranger. He could have just left him there. "Can you keep going?"

"No," Simon chuckled bitterly. "I'm not okay. I can't keep going. But I have to. My guts aren't spilling out just yet. Until they are, I'm gong to have to keep going."

Waylon regarded him with a deep frown. He didn't know this guy's story at all. Hell, he didn't even know his name. He only knew that all signs pointed to the fact that he did not belong in a place like this. He was just some guy. He hadn't done anything to deserve this, the blood leaking from his body and the near-death-experiences at every turn. As someone who had worked for the company who'd produced such a hellish trial, Waylon couldn't help but feel that it was at least partially his fault that the other man was injured. He looked like he wanted to give up. The only thing keeping him going was finding his sister. Waylon hoped for his sake that she was okay.

He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize or suggest a different route or…_anything_. But no logical thought could even formulate. A black, cloudy, whirling shadow manifested at the top of the scaffolding. A deafening, screaming buzz filled his ears, but he shadowy form was quickly gone. It took Waylon a long moment to process what he'd just seen. That thing was exactly what they'd been trying to accomplish. Billy Hope's ascension.

That thing was the _Walrider._

Murkoff had succeeded, and Waylon had never felt more thoroughly fucked in his life.

But for all the terrible dread the sighting produced, Waylon felt almost like the Walrider's appearance at the scaffolding's peak was like a sign, pointing in the right direction.

Simon seemed oblivious to the thing's appearance. He either wasn't paying attention, or he just didn't hear it. He only looked up at the scaffolding after it was gone. Waylon saw Simon heave a deep sigh.

"So, onward and upward, huh?"


End file.
